5203/Tales of Breaks and Bruises

Tales of Breaks and Bruises
Date of Scene:	19 August 2018
Location:	Gotham City
Synopsis:	Rule 1: Nightwing is Stupid. Rule 2: See Rule 1
Cast of Characters:	Nightwing, Batgirl (Cain)

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Nightwing has posed:
    The last few days had been a haze of recovery. A blur of time that slipped past heralded by a mix of pain medicine and long hours curled up trying to sleep with a body that ached with a memory of its own demise, and then the even more painful recovery. It had felt as if he had bruises upon his bruises, and with the nerve-ending punch that had struck so hard upon his chest just to the side of his sternum... it felt like an elephant was resting its rump heavily upon his body whenever he tried to sit up.
    Though, to be fair, he had sent word out via Damian though it's feasible that didn't get very far considering how irate the youngest Robin was at the time. But it was all he could manage for he had to hunker down and give his body time to heal.
    That was several days ago. Today he had to try and bring his head up above water, to take care of the matters that his absence had left in the air, and to touch base with some that might... take exception with what passed. So the engine of the converted Charger roared as the steel shocks and pistons twist to clasp at the wheels of the vehicle as it tore into the Batcave, the engine of the non-descript black vehicle churned with wild abandon for a time but then shifted down and slowly droned off as the vehicle's motor died. It was turned by the large rotating wheel, shunted off to the side should the Batmobile make its arrival.
    Yet this gave Nightwing time enough to get out and pull off his mask as he moved sloooowly across the cave. He tucked the mask into his hip pocket and rested a hand on the railing as he moved, gloved fingers sliding over the metal. Then, when he reached the bat computer console chair... he dropped into it with a grunt.
    "Man."

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
    It wasn't very long after that there was a sound of a motorcycle approaching down that tunnel, the engine pushed hard as it screamed through with the sound echoing in the closed in area. Then it appeared on the access path, continuing to the turntable but then steering off to the side to where the bikes were usually linied up each in their spot. This machine was black with no markings, giving away nothing of the make or model. It was designed to blend in with the darkness, not stand out like most motorcyclists seemed to prefer.
    As the bike was parked, the slim figure atop it swung a leg over as she dismounted. She had on a black helmet which she pulled off, letting her hair fall down her back. Her mask and cowl hung were tucked into a hidden compartment under the seat. She lifted that seat to pull them out. She also picked up the samples that had brought her back to the cave a bit earlier than usual.
    The metal walkway made a bit of noise as she walked, despite the sound dampening nature of her boots. She had a little bounce in her walk, pleased at the events of the night and certain that Batman would be happy with her.
    She made a beeline for the Batcomputer.

Nightwing has posed:
    The console chair twisted in its seat a little as Nightwing entered his log in, his password, then he heard that motorcycle's rumbling purr as the stealthy vehicle came down that tunnel and finding its place in the waldo-units that lift and lower the various vehicles into position. Grayson clicks a window into being and all he needs is a glance at that silhouette and that grim looking sewn-mouth mask to realize who it is. He lifts a hand to that wild hair of his and murmurs to himself. "Crap."
    There's no point in faking it, she can likely see the pain in the silent language of his posture, the way he moves as if his limbs were wrapped in cardboard boxes filled with broken glass. It all echoed of aches, pains. But he can't help himself as he turns on that seat to face her approach. That roguish smile touches his features as he says, "Hey Cass. So."
    His blue eyes meet those entirely unreadable eyelets of her mask and he says, "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
    In that moment, Cassandra is glad she took the time to put back on the cowl and mask after getting off the bike. At least this way he doesn't get the full effect of her displeasure. He will be able to see a bit of a scowl which means it is pretty epic in level to be seen through her mask. But that's it. He doesn't get the full glower. Her eyes narrow as she reads the way he is moving.
    To most people, there would be nothing amiss. He would be moving a bit slowly but just fine. To most of the Bat Family, they would be able to tell that he was hurting. They would be able to read the way he moved and shifted.
    Then there was Batgirl.
    Not only could she tell he was hurting, she likely could pinpoint the spot that was causing the domino effect in his pained moves. Not just his arm but the specific muscle, the exact cluster of nerves that caused it. His breathing wasn't normal for him either, giving away that there was a pain in his chest. Not his ribs. It wasn't favored on one side. And it wasn't his back since he was sitting with the seat against it in a way that showed it wasn't the problem. No, it was the center of his chest.
    << Bad. >> She signed quickly after setting the items she carried onto the edge of the computer.

Nightwing has posed:
    A glance is spared for the items she's placing down but he doesn't get up for now. Instead he sits there and tries to maintain that... nonchalance, one hand resting on the arm of the chair, the other lifting to absently massage at his thigh just above the kneecap. He catches himself doing that and stops as he clears his throat and then decides to go forward with what he has to say. "So. Bad news is that I didn't win." He tries a small pained smile just to the side as if that was something of a joke.
    Then he presses on and lifts a hand towards her as if seeking her hand, "Good news is... I'm not dead." He chooses those words meaningfully, not that he didn't die, per se. That he is not dead is what he says.
    "But it was..." He looks downwards, biting his lower lip then looks back up to her hidden eyes. "Very intense. I still can't remember all of what happened."

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
    Her hand is there when he reaches for it, letting him grasp it for a moment. Her expression behind the mask never changes. He can see what the bad guys face now, that impossible to read fright mask giving away nothing. Then she pulls her hand away but not out of rudeness, only she needs them to be able to talk to him.
    << Thought fight was next week. >> She lets the accusation hang there in the air. He had kept the date he was going to be fighting quiet from most of them. She was one who didn't know. She had not seen much of Damina either, thus she had received no information that the fight had happened. She just knew Nightwing was 'off patrol' for a few days and she had assumed it was in preparation for facing Shiva.
    Learning he had gone off and done it without letting her know? Dick was in the doghouse.

Nightwing has posed:
    There's a small squeeze given to her hand but then he draws back into the seat and rests his hands upon the arms of the chair, the seat creaks faintly as he turns to the side as his gaze slips away, only returning after a half moment. "Yeah, about that..." Again there's that smile, boyish in its offering and reaching his eyes. Without the mask it's unlikely he'd be too terribly intimidating to the crime families of Gotham, though even with it his gravitas did not match the silent spectre that she presents.
    "I knew that... chances were high people would interfere." He lifts a hand and pushes it through his hair, ending with his glove resting on the back of his neck, squeezing for a moment. "I caused this whole craziness. I couldn't let other people fight my battles for me. If I wanted to be able to look myself in the mirror..." He lets that phrase trail off.
    But then he places his hands flat upon the chair's arms and starts to push himself upright and then up onto his feet. He's a good head taller than her as he looks down at this Batgirl. "So c'mon, there are other things I should tell you." He starts to step away, walking towards the medbay.

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
    One of the things that took a long time for Cassandra to understand was that the group Batman had brought together were a family. A team. They looked out for one another, would die for each other. She had been on her own for so long, it was a transition to trusting people to have her back. Her early life was the exact opposite.
    So to hear that he chose to ignore that support system and all those people who cared about him, including her? She curled her hands into fists as she felt the urge to just punch him. Just once. To get the point across that he was an idiot.
    As he rose to his feet, she stepped back as she reached up to grab her mask and cowl, pulling them off and tossing them onto the computer next to the samples she'd obtained. Her dark hair fell loose, a little damp with sweat around the edges. Her frown was still there, that disapproval reflected in her dark brown eyes.
    As he moved toward the medbay, she walked with him in silence.

Nightwing has posed:
    Normally it's a handful of strides across the gantry with the metal plates clanking from the footsteps. But Nightwing's pace was slower than normal as he walks across it steadily, one hand upon the railing as he moved and then reaching that alcove in the wall of the large cave that serves as the place where the Batfamily tends to their wounded. As he pushes past the screens and into the area, he is already undoing the harness that crosses his chest and holds the eskrima sticks in place. With a click it comes free and he slips out of it gingerly, placing the equipment onto the rolling caddy beside the large medical bed.
    Facing her he eases himself one hip at a time onto the bed and holds up a hand to her, "Keep back for a sec, I know this thing doesn't use X-Rays but who knows, right?" That having been said he very slooowly reaches back and pulls off the armored overshirt that he draws free over his head and wincing all the while. When his arms reach full extension he winces with a /hiss/ through his lips as he sets that tunic out of the way...
    Only to reveal the most monstrous bruise that she has likely seen. A huge welt of purple and blue and yellow the size of a watermelon upon his chest running diagonally along the line of his circulatory system. It mars the powerfully muscled torso of the youth, creating a distinct impression of unhealth.

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
    As he settled onto the bed, Cassandra returned to a spot near the door. She didn't really know why it was a big deal she not be exposed to x-rays, or whatever else the fancy medical diagnostic bed might use, but she knew that everyone always said to stand clear. It was one of those things she didn't quite understand and had never taken the time to ask since it just was. Maybe some day she would ask so she actually understood, learning what it would do to a body and thus having more knowledge.
    As he removed his tunic and set it with the rest of the equipment, her eyes went a bit wide at the bruise. She had seen a bruise like that before. She knew the strike that caused it. Only, that had been about half the size of this one. The person had not survived the attack as it would stop the heart after a short time. The fact it was twice the size she remembered had her brow furrowing as she felt the urge to walk up and examine it more closely. She had to wait though. Until the scans and analysis was done before she could approach.
    These were the moments where her upbringing had her at a disadvantage. Part of her was wanting to go to him, comfort him, make sure he was okay. The other part wanted to storm out and find the woman responsible for using that strike against him. To use that same blow against her.
    Yet, that blow was death. He was alive. It took but a moment to realize that a second blow had been used, to restart that which the first had stopped. It was amazing and horrifying, the level of skill involved. It didn't change her wanting to find the woman and kill her.
    For someone who had sworn to never kill again, that was a staggering realization.

Nightwing has posed:
    The advanced technology of the medical scanner keys to life as the display settles over the area of the injury, casting curious lights across the injured area as the computer voice activates.
    // Please do not move, Nightwing. // Its voice soft, melodic, and feminine but without any hint of emotion to it.
    The lights continue to flow as the sensor twists on its mechanical arm to drift over. The displays on either end of the table and upon the wall show a cross-slice of the vigilante's anatomy, angry red areas keyed to life to show where the damage was done. It looks as if an army of crimson ants were walking across the torso of that being in the display screens. But Nightwing, for his part, remains motionless.
    That is until the voice perks up again, // Thank you, Nightwing. Assembling topical compound for application. Twelve minutes, please. //
    The system then shifts down and the displays cut off as the arms of the diagnostic unit twist back into the rest position. Dick slides one leg up so his boot is resting flat upon the surface of the bed and his arm settles on his knee as he grimaces. He looks across the way towards Cass and asks, "So what do you think, Doc?"

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
    Once the machine had withdrawn all its appendages, Cassandra approached. She stopped by his bedside, looking more closely at the bruise. She could see where the impact had happened, the way the shock of the blow had expanded out from the center. The lines that followed the circulatory system as it suffered that wave of impact, forcing the muscle that drove it all to stutter and stop.
    She started to reach out a hand, flat palmed, toward the center then stopped herself. First, he was still in severe pain. Touching it would just increase that, even a light brush. Second, it might remind him of the blow itself, something she'd rather him not remember.
    She brought her hand back so she could sign, dark eyes showing her concern although she didn't know how to express it, how to show her worry and relief he was still with them.
    << Think you're stupid. Shouldn't have gone alone. Should have let me go for you. >> She knew he wouldn't though. He would never let someone else get hurt when he could help it. Even if it meant /that/ happened. <<Want to...>> She frowned, knowing that this might be seen by Batman if he reviewed the video but realizing she wanted to share the truth with Nightwing. <<Kill her.>>

Nightwing has posed:
    A hand lifts to rest on her shoulder, just trying to steady her as he meets her gaze across that short distance. His fingers dig gently into that fabric as if trying to get her to meet his eyes as he tells her. "It's alright. It's over. I think..." He lifts his other hand to his chest and frowns as he lightly presses fingertips against it, wincing at the pressure and then lowering his hand again. "I think it was a test of some kind."
    He turns on the bed, sliding his legs over the edge so he can face her directly. She can see he wants to say something else but he's holding it back for the moment, as if afraid of what it would mean to confide it to her. But she might be pleased to notice that it only takes him a moment... two at the most for him to come to the decision as he says, "She wants to teach me, as she taught the others."
    A moment as his eyes meet hers, then he adds the second part. "I told her yes."

Batgirl (Cain) has posed:
    The hand helps a bit, centering her, getting her to focus on that instead of the urge to commit violence on the strange woman who had done this to him. Cassandra watches the way he touches the wound, tracking his movements with her eyes then flicking her gaze back up to his face.
    As he struggles with himself, she waits. No pushing. No rushing him. He would or would not tell her, there was nothing she could do to sway it. She did feel oddly pleased when he chose to speak.
    Until she heard the words. Teach him? After she'd killed him in essence, she'd offered to teach? The woman had to be insane. It was as simple as that. Cassandra knew what Nightwing's response was. He'd declined. It was the obvious thing to do.
    So when he meets her gaze and finishes the sentence, she feels like the world just shifted into insanity.
    For a moment, she holds his gaze then her frown appears. Her brow furrows. An instant later, her right hand has flashed forward and /slapped/ him right in the middle of his chest! Then she is turning on heel and stomping toward the door.

Nightwing has posed:
    She could tell he was girding himself for her reaction. His mistake, however, was in thinking that her reaction wouldn't be physical violence. Which... really if he had thought about it he should have expected for when she abruptly lashes out and hits him square in that gigantic bruise. It's just a slap, but it's enough to make his eyes go wide and for his hands to come up a split second later and cover his chest. It would almost be comical, the way he winces and says succinctly, "Aggh!" And then promptly keels back onto the table, coughing out a pained 'Owwwww' that makes his lungs tremble with the effort. It's as if someone just poured vinegar on the most raw sunburn he's ever had and it's not going away any time soon.
    The computer voice kicks on, // Nightwing, it seems you are suffering from highly responsive nerve ending readings, are you alright? Nightwing? //
    He roughly, raggedly, reaches out and _smacks_ the probing sensor away from him but he's unable to say anything else except various small noises of pain.