Morning, Morning Glory

June 22, 2015:

Dick shows up at the Batcave to deliver a Joker toxin sample to Batman. Guest appearance by Wonder Woman.

Batcave, Gotham



NPCs: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


An epic scene of mayhem and action, a green gas fills the ballroom of the annual Police Ball with representatives from Gotham, Metropolis, and New York. Men dressed as clowns are terrorizing the masses, while the Joker's maniacal laugh sends pangs to the ears.

Dick Grayson, knocked straight out cold, is being dragged under a table by a blonde woman.


That same Dick Grayson, alive luckily, is walking into the Batcave through a secret entrance. He's dressed his work outfit, sans tie, a dark blue shirt and charcoal dress pants. He's taken to leaving his sport coat at his shiny new detective's office (read: cubicle) for ease of use when needed.

His face looks a bit worse for wear, and though unseen, there's a giant goose-egg on the back of his head.

An electronic voice can be heard throughout the Batcave, "Access Granted Zero-Three-C-N." The same chime Wonder Woman had heard earlier only hers was something along the lines of Zero-Six-C-W." No doubt the Dark Knight has some method behind this.
Bruce is on the uplifted Batmobile island where the vehicle sits with the rear lifted upwards, sparks being expelled from underneath the souped up automobile that is little less than a highly mobile tank. The second entry has the owner of the Batcave fires the welder down tossing it aside with visible annoyance.
"Dick." He hails from behind the single visor-ed mask. No costume just a protective apron, t shirt and workout pants. It's late for Bruce, normally the man is in bed already. Which is to say it is early daytime for the rest of the East Coast."

Diana is not there as Wonder Woman, or at least in that ensemble. This is the cave, and this is another safe zone for the woman - slowly coming to ease with that fact that sometimes things can extend outside of your own proclaimed front doors and duty.

Hanging off a chair is a midriff level bombers jacket that apparently goes to the woman standing at the end of the Batmobile. One hand is clutched around the rear axle, holding it aloft with the flash of vambraces the coat would have covered if she did not shed it to help. A camo-green tank top covers her torso, stretching downward to be tucked into acid washed and tattered jeans. A contouring fit tucked within militaristic boots.

Cerulean eyes are cast down as Dick enters and then snaps to the side when Bruce has a 'moment' with the welder. "You need to remember your breathing exercises, it is but a machine, Bruce, I think right now perhaps a man may need your attention."

In saying as much Diana's gaze rests on Dick with a hint of concern in the backdrop, but if she goes to him and drops the Batmobiles back end… Well. Bad.

"Morning, Morning Glory," Dick says as he strides up towards Bruce. "Love the apron. Making cookies?" He reaches into his pocket, fumbling for just a moment,and pulls out a vial.

"Brought you a snack." The vial is handed over as Dick uses his other hand to check the goose-egg. "It's, hopefully, some trace amounts of the gas that the Joker used at the Police Ball from last night. Likely diluted through oxygen, tainted by cigar smoke and…" Dick shrugs. "Whatever, you'll figure it out. I'd have gotten a better sample, but unfortunately I got knocked out cold."

He shrugs his shoulders, "Only as good as your training, I guess."

And then he notices Diana and gives a low whistle. "Don't make them like they used to," he says under his breath. "Princess," he says a bit louder. "I hope you'll say hi to your sister for me."

"A break isn't a bad call. Just lower it back on to the rig please, Diana." No response to the breathing exercises while he takes off those insulated and heavy gloves and hops off the Batmobile's hangar.
A grunt and Bruce speaks again, "You have had some of the best training in the world, I find it doubtful the reason lies there. Getting enough sleep lately, Dick?" Walking over to the younger vigilante he accepts the vile from him lifting it up, "Joker is a masterful chemist with few on par but he always leaves openings, intentional ones, part of his psychosis. Loves the attention the Game." Nothing Dick needs to be told but Diana, well, she isn't exactly an arch-enemy of the Clown Prince like they are.

Diana hears Dick, even in the murmuring he does after a moments regard. One corner of her lips quirks upward, but amongst the stoicism that is the only other motion, that is until Bruce has her lower the Batmobile. Braced and spaced footing shifts enough to bring it down to seat upon the rig with an unsurprising ease, if you knew the woman, which both do.

The hand that had held upon the axle is covered in grime, now wiped off on the outer thigh of jeans before she steps closer to Dick and inspects his head. No touching, nothing demeaning to a fellow warrior, but a note none the less of his well being. "Which sister, as I have many. But by your age I can deduce." The small smile returns with a playful light in the Amazon's eyes towards Dick before she is directing her attention to the conversation at hand.

"Joker? Is he like those people on the street corners that pretend they are trapped in unseen boxes? How could anything he does be harmful if a fake box can keep them in place." Brows furrow as the wonders of Gotham and it's crime lords never cease.

Dick nods to Diana, "Yeah, Donna. Nice to see you here, Diana. I didn't realize…" He smiles a bit, thinking of his good Amazonian friend before it's back to business.

"Consider the source," he says about Bruce's response to his training quip. "I haven't been getting sleep because I've been burning at both ends. Not all of us get to sleep in all morning." He smiles at Bruce, trying to at least get a grin out of him. Thousands of times he's tried, only a few times has it worked. "So, you think you can get an antidote from that small a sample?" he asks, growing more serious.

"If only," he says absently to Diana. "Maybe we could put him in said box and send him to the Champs-Elysees in Paris."

No grin but a light smile does appear for both of their remarks. Bruce knows he doesn't have to explain to Diana that the Joker isn't just a mime. The humor, he does catch it sometimes.
Short lived smile fades and with the sample in hand Bruce makes his way towards the lab across the cave. Netting above shakes as a bat falls in to it. Dead. Bruce is not superstitious about his bats, not like he used to be, but still, a pause to consider is given and he actually checks the minicomputer wrist watch he is wearing to see which bat that one was tagged as. CB-23077.
"I might be able to, what symptoms? Hyper-stimulation that causes spasms, Risus Sardonicus, death? Or am I looking at something different here?" He won't know for sure until he has it under a microscope. "If I can't work one up I should be able to at least slow the agent. I have enough of the Joker's previous work I can compile something."

The business and exchange between the two men is one she almost stays mute on. Out of respect Diana has left Bruce and his team to Gotham while her interests and exercises lay elsewhere. Though when Dick mentions Donna, Diana only smiles momentarily, yet another brief and limited glimmer of concern before it is washed away in the babble between them. There is no faux interest here, these are things she does not completely know, and wisdom is yet another thing she seeks to always gain and retain.

Following behind them both she keeps a respectful distance, though a brow does rise at the vial and the mentions of what others had done. "And your Joker plays at these toxins like a game on people? Yes, a nice metal box is the best of places for him…. If not the least." The latter is a low murmur as fingers still coated lightly in grease curl inward to fists.

"Wish I could," the former Boy Wonder says as he shakes his head. "I spent the entire ordeal dragged under a table by Captain Stacy's daughter. I bet if you looked into it via television or media that'd give you enough to go on. Besides, you always like a challenge, right?"

Speaking of challenges.

Dick gives a tilt of the head and wide eyes before looking at Diana then back to Bruce, then tilted head than shrugging shoulders. It is code.

"Well," Dick says in response to Diana. "We have that whole code thing. But, Joker makes every day tough. Everyday. Everytime."

"He has a metal box waiting for him in Arkham Asylum. It already has his name on it." Bruce responds to Diana in all seriousness.
"Under a table with a girl? Not surprising." The vial is dumped in to a beaker and Bruce sets to taking off that apron hanging it up and then washing his hands.
"It would appear our dinner tonight will have to wait, Princess." Sleep might also. The chasis on the Batmobile was one thing, this is an all together different and more important scenario. He has multiple Batmobiles after all. "Computer. Tri-City Police Ball, bring it up on all monitors and run facial recognition and kinematic systems."
Immediately screens along the monitor womb in the center start to pull up and cycle, several smaller ones in the lab do as well. All of these things of course visible from various locations throughout the Batcave. It's a hive network, it is intentionally and strategically set up this way.
"Would either of you like some tea? Alfred made extra yesterday morning before he left for England." Something to do with Father's Day no doubt.

Diana looks between the two of them, now noting with their mentions of rest and a lack-thereof the dark circles under their eyes, the exhaustion fought through, even more-so when the cancellation of dinner plans comes to the forefront. She already knew as much and one hand sweeps upward to smooth onyx hair from her fce, twisting it and tritely knotting it into a messy bun at the back of her head. One booted foot sweeps outward to roll a chair towards Dick in a sweeping kick. One hand falls onto another and she spins it to fall into with a regality but a determination.

"So we get this done, get him in a box, and go to dinner then?" We? Yep, even Dick is offered in her own demanding 'princes-sly' way. "Then you both sleep."

One hand rises because she knows someone is going to protest. "I have spent days in Russia dealing with something not of this world. I am in the presence of two of this world, with a Clown that needs a real box, and I want dinner with good company and no military discussions, let alone business. Sometimes even a Princess has to draw the lines."

Looking from Dick to Bruce fingers work over the vambraces like she is pushing up sleeves. Tell her no, she dares you! "Test the gas on me and use the changes in my blood and alterations in oxygen levels to deduce and quantify what the base gas derives from. Did Alfred leave coffee?"

It just got real in the Batcave!

"'I'd love some, but unfortunately I have to head into work pretty quick here. Do all this sort of thing from the other end of the law," Dick says about the tea. "Alfred's gone? You going to have to wash your own underwear now? Take my advice, buy a department store and wear new ones till he gets back."

When Diana makes for a dinner date with the three of them, you can almost see Dick begin to backpedal. "Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude and the that third wheel making your bike a trike."

"No, Diana. On all fronts." Bruce is just as firm. "Joker venom wouldn't have the same affect on your physiology. It would be pointless. I have this." Neatly setting up the lab for work he turns around faces the two of them, "The ribbing though enjoyable as it is will have to come to an end here shortly. I realize I may need a shower, Dick has to go to work and Princess… " Bruce looks at her, his mouth opens and then closes. How does one tell a woman she is too much of a distraction and should go away.
"You should probably go as well, at least for the time being. As tired as I am I am enjoying the break away from Alfred's nagging… "

"Bring the Stacy-girl that drug you under a table, then. You may want to know her first name. No trikes in this circus you men have, just good food and time to relax?" Diana does look genuinely puzzled now for that moment. Though, when Bruce speaks up and declines… Everything her jaw sets and those eyes flicker. A royal fit on setting? Perhaps.

The chair groans in protest as the recline back she takes even makes the metal begin to bend and warp under pressure. One leg swings up over the other to swing lazily while arms simultaneously fold across her chest. Slow, deliberate, trained. Yep, she's internalizing.

"You invite me here to hold up your chassis but beg me to take my leave after tea and not even a lunch? Alfred would chide your manners more so then I am right now." An indignant rise of chin as all movement ceases and she is staring between Bruce and Dick.

Dick, help a girl out…

"So that's what they're calling it these days," Dick murmurs as he checks his watch. Yeah, he has to wear a watch on the off chance that someone could actually track his cell phone into one of his super secret spots within the city. This one included.

"Gwen Stacy is a no go, Diana. I have two full-time jobs. I haven't got the time for a lady up in New York," he says absently. "How about this. I meet up with you for dinner before we all go out at night."

"Multiple recent names, yes, calling it "venom" seems popular currently, though, it has no relation to what we're used to in the least. Joker Toxin is probably a better classification or of course, Smilex. We'll find out exactly what this is in a couple hours." Bruce sighs and peels his shirt up over his head to hang it near the apron, scars, so many scars and currently a cybernetic spinal injector. It attaches and acts as a sort of medical supplicant, here and there administering fluid that eases pain and helps heal tissue. He has been wearing it on and off for several years, the frequency of its use has grown recently, however.
"Manners? Ah, yes, I apologize but this takes priority. And I didn't invite you over just to help me repair the Batmobile's chassis, you insisted on helping to hurry us along… "
Bruce cuts himself off as Dick offers to take Diana out to dinner, "Go ahead. It might be good for the both of you. I would suggest you wear the glasses though, Princess. Too many people have seen the Ambassador out with Bruce Wayne, being seen with Dick Grayson might give press too much ammunition."

Diana just swivels slightly from side to side in the chair using the pressure of single planted foot, looking at Bruce with his response. "Have you not read th news lately anyway? If I am not a 'freak', 'mutate', or 'designee from a foreign land of female aliens to take over' already, they will cook up what they want with or without glasses, with or without /you/." Now Diana sounds tired, as well as bordering there on the edge is a wavering emotion that is quickly snuffed with the plant of her other foot.

Rising she heads across the cave to gather the bomber jacket up and swing it on with an ease to cover the vambraces and tie the ensemble together.

"I have wanted to try this Zara Restaurant. It boasts a mixture of cultural flavors. I'll be there at 6, with or without company. Let them say something to that." A wink to them both and a brush of fingertips along Dick's shoulder in passing with a low whisper. "Make sure you take care of you better."

Not said for secrecy, she knows Bruce would catch it, but she can only insist to one for so long before it is a waste, perhaps another will listen.

"Zero-Six-C-W, out."

After Diana leaves Dick's eyes go wide as he mouths, 'WOW' to Bruce. "I was talking about all of us, man." He looks back over his shoulder and grins at Bruce, "You dog, you. Meet us up for dinner. I'll try and see if I can find someone to bring. And let me know about that antidote, huh?"

"I'll figure it out." Bruce reaches two fingers up and pinches the space between his eyes. "…I suppose I need to make this dinner." Turning his back on the two who just departed Bruce sets to busying himself on the Joker Toxin and catching up on what he has missed in regards to the man's crime spree.

"Zero-Three-C-N, out."

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