After a long, semi-quiet ride back to Gotham, Dick and Kurt were down in
the cave, doing warm-ups before getting on the trapeze rig.
"So, Kurt, what were you called anyways, in your circus days?"
"The Flying Demon. Everyone thought my looks were just a costume. The tail catches _really_ freaked people out."
"No Kidding. I can't _wait_ to get up in the air with a proper performer again. I managed to convince Bruce to learn the tricks, but he's so much heavier tham me that he always has to be the catcher."
"As I recall, that was the boring part."
"I always felt like I was leaving him out of the fun. Heh. I still remember the first time I went up with him. He got into the position they have in the cartoons - all the weight on the knees, instead of looping his legs around the rope properly."
"Good thing you corrected him. It would look pretty bad for Batman to be laid up for a fortnight because his own partner had taken out his knees."
"He'd go out anyways."
"...Oh."
"Ready to go up?"
"More than ready."
Kurt and Dick ascended the trapeze rig, Kurt taking his place as the catcher first. They started off with a few simple summersaults, getting used to each others style. Soon the tricks started becoming more complex, graduating into twists and gigantic, almost cartwheeling turns. Soon Dick was confident enough of his partner's caliber to pull off the trick that had made him famous - his quadruple summersault. Kurt caught him more by reflex than anything else.
"Whoa! What was that?"
"My quad."
"I've never seen that before."
"I'm not surprised. In this world, at least, only two other people on the planet are capable of it."
"I have a few tricks of my own."
"Such as?"
Kurt flipped up onto the bar and id a handstand on the still swinging trapeze, them abruptly took a nosedive, catching himself with his tail at the last moment."
"Whoa! I wish I had a tail like that."
"Doesn't everyone? Once they get over the screaming at the spaded tip part, anyways."
On the boys continued, in a complicated series of nearly impossible twists and turns, forgetting everything but the joy of flying for the moment. It had been too long for both of them. Two boys, who all too often had problems bigger than their tender years lain on them, were free for the moment to play as only they could.
After whiling away nearly an hour on the trapeze, both boys came
down for dinner. Once again, Kurt's eating habits turned stomachs.
"Was? You guys see worse than this on the streets every night."
Dick answered, "Yeah, but that's not going on right in front of me. Autopsy reports during dinner I can handle. This is just disgusting. Turkey and whipped cream should not be mixed."
"Let me get this straight. You can handle hearing about people getting shot at the table, but not my eating habits?"
"Pretty much. Oh, and the most recent ones weren't gunshots. Killer Croc got out and started gutting people again."
"I'll make a deal with you. You leave the autopsies alone, I leave the whipped cream off the turkey."
"And leave it off the pickles?"
"Ja."
"Deal."
About two seconds after the table was cleared Bruce started in on the weird autopsies from last night.
"Seven victims were found torn open with what appeared to be animalistic claws. There was a human involved, however. Bloocy fingerprints were found around all corpses. No match was found in the police database. Witnesses claim to have seen a massive man with dirty blond hair entering the premises in each case..."
"Sabertooth."
"What?"
"When I 'ported here, I thought I felt something drag itself here with me. I've seen him, and Logan told me his MO."
"He's about seven feet tall, felinoid, has claws, and heals from his injuries in minutes. I haven't had enough experience with him to say anything more than that."
"Good enough. Suit up, Dick. We're going on patrol."
"Can I come?"
"No."
"Please? I'll be better at finding him than you."
"Explain."
"Sabertooth hates Logan and knows that Logan cares about me. Thus, I'll be his favorite target if he can get his claws on me."
"You're a cartoon icon in uniform. You're not going out like that."
Dick interjected, "We still have the plain black kevlar from that mission with Two-face. It would fit him, sans gloves and boots, if we cut a tail- hole."
"He's not going out barefoot, barefaced, and barehanded."
It was at this point that Alfred interjected, "Pardon me sirs. I took the liberty of preparing suitable accruements in the case of this event. With that he smoothly showed the others black gloves for hand and feet, as well as a zorro-like bandanna/mask piece.
"So can I come on patrol?"
Bruce walked off toward the grandfather clock(1)
"Dick told Kurt, "That means yes."
(1) In the stories this was a secret entrance to the cave. It did not work, but would swing over to open the entrance when wound to the time Bruce saw his parents killed in front of him. Not truly important, just an interesting look into the neuroses that is Batman.
"So, Kurt, what were you called anyways, in your circus days?"
"The Flying Demon. Everyone thought my looks were just a costume. The tail catches _really_ freaked people out."
"No Kidding. I can't _wait_ to get up in the air with a proper performer again. I managed to convince Bruce to learn the tricks, but he's so much heavier tham me that he always has to be the catcher."
"As I recall, that was the boring part."
"I always felt like I was leaving him out of the fun. Heh. I still remember the first time I went up with him. He got into the position they have in the cartoons - all the weight on the knees, instead of looping his legs around the rope properly."
"Good thing you corrected him. It would look pretty bad for Batman to be laid up for a fortnight because his own partner had taken out his knees."
"He'd go out anyways."
"...Oh."
"Ready to go up?"
"More than ready."
Kurt and Dick ascended the trapeze rig, Kurt taking his place as the catcher first. They started off with a few simple summersaults, getting used to each others style. Soon the tricks started becoming more complex, graduating into twists and gigantic, almost cartwheeling turns. Soon Dick was confident enough of his partner's caliber to pull off the trick that had made him famous - his quadruple summersault. Kurt caught him more by reflex than anything else.
"Whoa! What was that?"
"My quad."
"I've never seen that before."
"I'm not surprised. In this world, at least, only two other people on the planet are capable of it."
"I have a few tricks of my own."
"Such as?"
Kurt flipped up onto the bar and id a handstand on the still swinging trapeze, them abruptly took a nosedive, catching himself with his tail at the last moment."
"Whoa! I wish I had a tail like that."
"Doesn't everyone? Once they get over the screaming at the spaded tip part, anyways."
On the boys continued, in a complicated series of nearly impossible twists and turns, forgetting everything but the joy of flying for the moment. It had been too long for both of them. Two boys, who all too often had problems bigger than their tender years lain on them, were free for the moment to play as only they could.
After whiling away nearly an hour on the trapeze, both boys came
down for dinner. Once again, Kurt's eating habits turned stomachs.
"Was? You guys see worse than this on the streets every night."
Dick answered, "Yeah, but that's not going on right in front of me. Autopsy reports during dinner I can handle. This is just disgusting. Turkey and whipped cream should not be mixed."
"Let me get this straight. You can handle hearing about people getting shot at the table, but not my eating habits?"
"Pretty much. Oh, and the most recent ones weren't gunshots. Killer Croc got out and started gutting people again."
"I'll make a deal with you. You leave the autopsies alone, I leave the whipped cream off the turkey."
"And leave it off the pickles?"
"Ja."
"Deal."
About two seconds after the table was cleared Bruce started in on the weird autopsies from last night.
"Seven victims were found torn open with what appeared to be animalistic claws. There was a human involved, however. Bloocy fingerprints were found around all corpses. No match was found in the police database. Witnesses claim to have seen a massive man with dirty blond hair entering the premises in each case..."
"Sabertooth."
"What?"
"When I 'ported here, I thought I felt something drag itself here with me. I've seen him, and Logan told me his MO."
"He's about seven feet tall, felinoid, has claws, and heals from his injuries in minutes. I haven't had enough experience with him to say anything more than that."
"Good enough. Suit up, Dick. We're going on patrol."
"Can I come?"
"No."
"Please? I'll be better at finding him than you."
"Explain."
"Sabertooth hates Logan and knows that Logan cares about me. Thus, I'll be his favorite target if he can get his claws on me."
"You're a cartoon icon in uniform. You're not going out like that."
Dick interjected, "We still have the plain black kevlar from that mission with Two-face. It would fit him, sans gloves and boots, if we cut a tail- hole."
"He's not going out barefoot, barefaced, and barehanded."
It was at this point that Alfred interjected, "Pardon me sirs. I took the liberty of preparing suitable accruements in the case of this event. With that he smoothly showed the others black gloves for hand and feet, as well as a zorro-like bandanna/mask piece.
"So can I come on patrol?"
Bruce walked off toward the grandfather clock(1)
"Dick told Kurt, "That means yes."
(1) In the stories this was a secret entrance to the cave. It did not work, but would swing over to open the entrance when wound to the time Bruce saw his parents killed in front of him. Not truly important, just an interesting look into the neuroses that is Batman.