Springtime (theme: First Robin of Spring-out of competition)
Title: Springtime
Universe: DC Universe, about 1992.
Genre: Training.
Rating: All ages.
Characters/Pairings: Tim Drake (Robin), Dick Grayson (Nightwing).
Word Count: 470.
Summary: The worst part of being the third Robin is when you can't avoid a direct comparison.
Note: I was tied up worse than a Boy Hostage last week as the "First Robin of Spring" deadline came and went, but that theme triggered an idea in my head that I just had to get down on pixels and share. Imagine that Prof. Carter Nichols has hypnotized us to go back in time...
Springtime
I'm forty minutes into my solo workout when Dick bounds up from the cave garage smelling of motorcycle exhaust.
"Hey, Tim! Oops! Sorry I distracted you."
"That's okay." I'd been falling toward the mats already.
I'm training on the bollards-that's what Alfie calls them. They're two pillars, about the diameter of garbage can, five feet tall and six feet apart. Bruce has me jumping from one to the other twenty minutes a day. Fortunately, they're padded all over. I climb back on.
Dick peels off his mask and puts one hand on top of one of the taller pair, farther apart, that Bruce uses. "Man, I've lost count of how many hours I spent on these." And with one spring he's crouching on that bollard, smiling.
I start jumping again, trying to twist in the air so I land facing back the way I came. Dick watches, nods, and then leaps. He does a front flip with a half twist and he lands silently on the other bollard. "Good times." Jump, back flip, and he's back on the first.
I try a front somersault. My heels slip off the edge, and I sit hard on my rear.
"You're getting there," Dick calls over, halfway through a double gainer. "Any landing you can walk away from, you know." He lands on his hands, feet pointed at the stalactites.
I carefully stand back up.
"Bruce's probably told you to be unpredictable." Dick twirls on one hand, jackknifes, and springs off his toes. "Different move each time." Double somersault, landing in a squat.
I'm just trying not to fall off. "My cape keeps falling on my face," I grumble.
"Think of it as part of you," says Dick, bouncing straight up as if he were on a trampoline. "Get a sense of where it is, how it flows." Aerial cartwheel to the other side. "Tug and shrug it so it goes where you want."
Great. Another thing to keep track of. I try tugging and shrugging during my twist and fall short. I hit the bollard my stomach, grabbing the far side.
"Aim for the middle of the circle." Half-twist with three punches thrown along the way. "You don't have to hit the center exactly," Dick says, hitting the center exactly. "But if you aim for the middle-" Flying windmill kick. "-you can be off by a little."
I clamber back up, muttering, "Easy for you to say."
Dick glances over in midair. "Why d'you say that?"
I exhale a tired puff. "Dick, you nailed the last three landings on just your right foot!"
"Hey-good eye!" He springs back up. "I'll do the next three on my left to even it out."
For the first time, I sense why the mooks found him so annoying.
Universe: DC Universe, about 1992.
Genre: Training.
Rating: All ages.
Characters/Pairings: Tim Drake (Robin), Dick Grayson (Nightwing).
Word Count: 470.
Summary: The worst part of being the third Robin is when you can't avoid a direct comparison.
Note: I was tied up worse than a Boy Hostage last week as the "First Robin of Spring" deadline came and went, but that theme triggered an idea in my head that I just had to get down on pixels and share. Imagine that Prof. Carter Nichols has hypnotized us to go back in time...
Springtime
I'm forty minutes into my solo workout when Dick bounds up from the cave garage smelling of motorcycle exhaust.
"Hey, Tim! Oops! Sorry I distracted you."
"That's okay." I'd been falling toward the mats already.
I'm training on the bollards-that's what Alfie calls them. They're two pillars, about the diameter of garbage can, five feet tall and six feet apart. Bruce has me jumping from one to the other twenty minutes a day. Fortunately, they're padded all over. I climb back on.
Dick peels off his mask and puts one hand on top of one of the taller pair, farther apart, that Bruce uses. "Man, I've lost count of how many hours I spent on these." And with one spring he's crouching on that bollard, smiling.
I start jumping again, trying to twist in the air so I land facing back the way I came. Dick watches, nods, and then leaps. He does a front flip with a half twist and he lands silently on the other bollard. "Good times." Jump, back flip, and he's back on the first.
I try a front somersault. My heels slip off the edge, and I sit hard on my rear.
"You're getting there," Dick calls over, halfway through a double gainer. "Any landing you can walk away from, you know." He lands on his hands, feet pointed at the stalactites.
I carefully stand back up.
"Bruce's probably told you to be unpredictable." Dick twirls on one hand, jackknifes, and springs off his toes. "Different move each time." Double somersault, landing in a squat.
I'm just trying not to fall off. "My cape keeps falling on my face," I grumble.
"Think of it as part of you," says Dick, bouncing straight up as if he were on a trampoline. "Get a sense of where it is, how it flows." Aerial cartwheel to the other side. "Tug and shrug it so it goes where you want."
Great. Another thing to keep track of. I try tugging and shrugging during my twist and fall short. I hit the bollard my stomach, grabbing the far side.
"Aim for the middle of the circle." Half-twist with three punches thrown along the way. "You don't have to hit the center exactly," Dick says, hitting the center exactly. "But if you aim for the middle-" Flying windmill kick. "-you can be off by a little."
I clamber back up, muttering, "Easy for you to say."
Dick glances over in midair. "Why d'you say that?"
I exhale a tired puff. "Dick, you nailed the last three landings on just your right foot!"
"Hey-good eye!" He springs back up. "I'll do the next three on my left to even it out."
For the first time, I sense why the mooks found him so annoying.