3990/Stranded in Gotham

Stranded in Gotham
Date of Scene:	01 March 2018
Location:	Gotham City
Synopsis:	Dick Grayson gets some darn sleep. Barbara's kitchen is in shambles. A half asleep Dick reveals something that keeps Barbara up.
Cast of Characters:	Nightwing, Oracle

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Nightwing has posed:
    It is the buttcrack of dawn. The absolute earliest rays of the dawn are starting to push in through the windows. A certain statuesque redhead has just barely been asleep for a couple of hours. The bed is warm, and she was up at the computer late. She's earned this sleep. Something stirs her though. It is something slight, just a noise that shouldn't be there. Was that the refrigerator door?
    There is someone in the apartment!

Oracle has posed:
Given her location and her role of late, the redhead is expecting one of the younger Robins. She stumbles out of bed, her blue eyes barely cracked up, with an escrima stick in one hand.... you know, just in case. Padding on silent feet down into the kitchen, she grumbles, "You could at least be *silent* about .... oh!"

Nightwing is not who she expected. She's actually startled. "Well, hi, stranger."

Nightwing has posed:
    He has a bag of her frozen peas awkwardly on what promises to be a glorious bruise on his left shoulder blade. It is already beginning to change about three colors, including that sickly yellow and purple. It looks a lot like a boot print.

    "You should see the other guy." Dick Grayson acerbically notes. His hair is tousled, and he's got his 'this doesn't hurt' face on. A slight bite to his lip. Just the cast of his jaw that only she, Alfred, Bruce, and Maybe Cassie can read. It hurts like a mother, as it is is right on a cluster of nerves and an important joint. The shoulder is almost certainly dislocated. The pain must be excruciating, especially if he had to swing his way here after it happened. No wonder its so late/early that he got here?

    As impressive as that is, the disaster he has somehow managed to make in her kitchen is cringeworthy. Breakfast in bed threw up in her kitchen. Flour. Milk. Vinegar. he was obviously going to surprise her with breakfast. It is an utter disaster area though. The EPA should be called in. Is that a wooden spoon handle sticking out of her garbage disposal? "Look." He deadpans as her facial expression gives him some sort of cue that he might be in trouble. "Ninja breakfast in bed preparation with a messed up shoulder is hard." He sort of looks over the kitchen. "And, let's be honest? This is hardly the worst mess I have made in your kitchen..."

Oracle has posed:
She's //wide smack awake// as she takes in Hurricane Richard. Jesus effing Christ.

When the blue eyes come back to his face, a single copper brow climbs her forehead. In a tone as dry as the Sahara, Barbara retorts, "Really. And //vinegar// somehow plays into breakfast." Shoving a hand through the tousled red hair that curls around her face, she wearily walks over to him. "Breathe."

It's the only warning he's going to get, knowing as he does that she can see the dislocation from where she's standing. And much as Bruce would have done (only with //no// warning on the Bat's part), the redhead takes his wrist, pivots her body, and swiftly *POPS* the joint back into place. At least now the ice will help.

"Have you slept anytime in the past two days?" Barbara asks him mildly. Because he's been in her earpiece almost constantly every time she's been on the comms for the past weeks. She's pretty sure there's no sleeping happening.

Nightwing has posed:
    "Alfred taught me that if you mix in a little vinegar in with milk, it makes it chemically the same as buttermilk." Wait. Alfred's waffles? Dick was going to make her Alfred's waffles? Maybe she should let him continue?

    "I can't brush the iron with olive oil, I had to use the vegetable oil, and -obviously- a certain Red Robin was here and made something. He left a thumb print in the oil on the side of the the container that was a very clear little signal that I have been a crappy boyfr-- Holy crap!" There is that pop and the flare of pain. He seethes for a moment, drawing in a breath. Funny though, how the other hand settles right on her backside, swearing flour, oil, and a bit milk right there in a very clear handprint. If that same Red Robin comes back around, well there's Nightwing's mark.

    He applies just a momentary pressure there, and he leans over to attempt to snag her lips in a quick kiss. He smells bad. Like a ruined raw breakfast, and like he was rolling around in an alley. His bare chest is cool, and his breath tastes like coffee... and a faint bit of alleyway. It's a tentative, almost shy kiss. He's usually much bolder. All that aside, it's maybe one of the sweetest little kisses he's given her. He didn't show up for a booty call. All the working on breakfast? That's just him trying to earn the little kiss that he stole.

    "Thank you." He whispers against her cheek with his garbage breath. He doesn't specify for what, but it sounds like 'for everything'.

Oracle has posed:
The redhead returns the soft kiss, garbage breath and all, and then smiles affectionately. Then she shoves him lightly back. "You're welcome." In the weeks since they finally decided to actually start dating, they've become far more familiar with one another and comfortable with the casual touches and embraces. She doesn't seem to care that he's leaving a handprint on her pajamas -- she does, however, seem to care about the sleep factor. "Now go find the shower and your toothbrush, and come have a nap with me. Cuz I'm wiped out, and as much as I want Alfred's pancakes, babe? I want to curl up in your arms and //sleep// for a while now that all hell is not raining down on our heads."
She waggles copper brows at him teasingly over her shoulder. "If you make it to the bed smelling nicer than Killer Croc, there might even be some kissie-face going on."

Nightwing has posed:
    "Just a short nap." Dick replies, regretfully. "I need to meet with Dragon early and work on my training, and I promised Tim I would check in with him at school. He gets lonely. I know he had a girlfriend. Past tense." He launches into the litany of things that if he keeps trying to do will put him in an early grave. It's a smoke screen. He should have separated the Dragon and Tim parts. Dragon training is really about Shiva, and Tim got himself tangled up in that. And there it is.Why hasn't her boyfriend been around like that kiss would seem to indicate he wants to be? Tim and training.

    He realizes he didn't bury the lede, and it isn't Nightwing, or even Robin that says it, but Dick Grayson. "I can't let Timmy down."

    It's going to kill him. He'll put himself in the grave before he'll screw up like he did again. His eyes are a little bright. He's tired. Emotions are raw. For just a moment, his body pasture is one she's seen in a graveyard. It's too vulnerable for him, and Dick starts to mumble about going to the shower. Two days? Maybe three without sleep. He's running on fumes and grit. Mostly grit.

Oracle has posed:
Barbara pauses and looks at him, perhaps a little sternly. "You //will// put in 4 hours. Or I'm tattling to Alfred," she informs him. It's not like she doesn't know //exactly// where he is these days... comms with little geotags in them are very very useful. And he might be without a lot of things, but he's //never// without his comms. "You keep pulling DAYS with no sleep, Dick, and you're going to be no good to Tim or yourself," she says in a gentler tone. "Four hours is a short nap. I'll text Dragon and let him know." Because whether he realizes it or not, Barbara too has been training with the man. It might be only now that he picks up on the idea that she walked in with an escrima stick in her hand.

Nightwing has posed:
    "You wouldn't tattle. you know I would tattle back." Dick counters, his jaw setting. He must be tired. He's getting his back up. He winces as he lifts his left hand up, "Maybe I should talk to your dad and ask him for permission." Dirty pool? "He'd have kittens." He's ready to fight over this. He's definitely sleep deprived if he's reverting to their teenage years where spatting and fighting is his way of saying 'I love you'.

    Thankfully, Bruce didn't raise a complete bonehead. "That was dumb. You are just looking out for me." he sounds disgusted with himself. "Yeah. Umm. 10 minutes." He adds as he sort of slowly makes his way to the bathroom. "I'm sorry. you are right!" He needs to sleep, as he's definitely raw. Everything is on the surface, his composure is shot, and the lack of sleep probably contributed to the injury. "Nice stick! When I'm not banged up, you can show me what you learned to do with it! No kicking! Mile long legs aren't fair..." His voice trails off as he vanishes into the bathroom.

Oracle has posed:
She almost bites back -- their spatting often turned into her putting her nose in the air and taking off. But they're both growing up. And she lets him have his last word about telling her father and whatever else. And then just smiles at him. The apology that follows hot on the heels of the knee-jerk reaction is clearly accepted without rancor. "Mile-long legs are //so// fair," she retorts on a chuckle.

When he comes back out of the bathroom, she is curled up in the large bed upstairs, comfortable and warm. Shooting him a welcoming smile as he climbs in, she wraps herself around him -- carefully because of his soreness! -- and murmurs, "I've missed you. Tell me how training is going." The invitation to talk about the thing that has him so wound up is sincere, though she hasn't pushed hard. She knows he's struggling with what's coming at him.

Nightwing has posed:
    "Oh. This isn't fair." Dick replies. He smells significantly better. Gingerly, he crawls into the bed and hauls the redhead over. He lazily indicates other bruises about the size and shape of people's fists. "Great." he deadpans. "If you need to make a roast, I am well tenderized." His eyes start to close already, but he forces them open and attempts to haul her a little closer. "So."

    "how you do'in?" He attempts to flirt. The yawn is very sexy. As soon as he got warm again, sleep came after him. He knows he should be attempting to seduce while the getting is good, but the bed is warm. So is she. "Is that an electric blanket?" he fights closing his eyes again. It's like a little kid who is tired but doesn't want to sleep. He keeps forcing his drooping eyelids open.

Oracle has posed:
"Nope," Barbara replies. She's honestly just as tired as he is. She barely caught 2 hours -- maybe not even that much -- before he arrived. So as he curls up, even if he were interested in getting too frisky it might not happen. She's perfectly content just to nuzzle into his side, carefully avoiding his injuries now that she can see them better. "Just a better Bat-blankie. With Superman decals," she teases with a yawn of her own. "Alarm'll go off... later," she mumbles into his shoulder. "And then you can fix the destruction and make Alfred's waffles." Because he //so// owes her those after the Hurricane that destroyed the kitchen. Again.

Nightwing has posed:
    "Of course I will." Dick assures her. He nuzzles back in and against her. His eyelids drop. He is asleep for like fifteen seconds. She can feel the tensions slide out of his form. Then he's awake. "I should just move in. I might sleep more." Then he's back out. Like a light.

    Jerk.

Oracle has posed:
Blue eyes blink wide open in shock and stare at the ceiling. Well, NOW she's not gonna sleep at all!

Jerk!