(no subject)
Who: Damian
What: Going for a joyride in Crowley's Bentley.
When: This glorious afternoon.
Where: The grounds.
Rating: G.
He’s explored Paradisa head to toe, snuck around on window ledges, poked his nose into every nook and cranny he could find. Dick’s brought him down to the caves to find traces of Batman’s presence, and he’s spent hours poring over the journals, looking for something, anything of use... and all for nothing.
As a result, Damian is bored.
Most bored kids sit around and complain, or flop in front of the television for hours, or find a book to flip through. Some might even be driven to wander around, or go to the park in town, or find someone to play with. It could be any number of normal, mundane things to while away the hours.
But not Damian. When boredom rears its ugly head, Damian gets himself into trouble.
And luckily for him, trouble is easy to find... particularly because it’s parked outside, in the form of a gleaming black Bentley.
Damian eyes it from the lawn, temptation bubbling up in him. It wouldn’t be hard.
He invites himself into the car, glad these old fashioned things are easy to get into: they have poor construction, and the edging outside the doors makes for a fantastic booster step. Not having reliable windows helps, too. He climbs over the door and slides into the seat, the journal landing on the seat beside him. Without hesitation, he produces a screwdriver head from his utility belt and tries it in the ignition. No go.
For the first time in a long time, he’s pleased that Gotham is full of rich people with old-fashioned cars, giving him cause to learn how to get around them. Damian wiggles down to the floor space and strips off his gloves so he can better work with the wires, and he pops off the bottom panels from the underside of the steering column with a crack. The exposed wires seemed to match up with what he was familiar with, so he went ahead and pulled them apart.
He sorts through the wires, occasionally poking his head up to see if he had gotten the the radio by accident. The radio is just fuzz, obviously, given the castle’s lack of radio stations. After a bit of fiddling, however, he locates the right ones and disconnected them. With another metal tool from his belt, he strips the plastic and twists the wires together... only to get shocked.
The yelp he gives as he jerks back isn’t as badass as he’d like, but he’s quick to put his gloves back on for insulation against shocks. Damian grits his teeth. At least it isn’t as bad as his encounter with Scarlet’s taser; he still has the electrical burns from that.
He carefully reaches under and touched another set of wires together; the car roars to life, lights and all, idles long enough for Damian to start to get the exposed wires out of the way, and then splutters and dies.
Damian swears, poking his head up enough to look at the dashboard. After a bit of inspection, he discovered the gas tank was empty.
Easily solved.
Five minutes later, Damian is smirking as he floors the gas pedal, sitting on the extreme edge of the seat to get far enough forward to reach, hands gripping the steering wheel hard. The Bentley shoots forward like a bat out of hell.
Interesting, because this bat probably just invited himself into it... especially when his journal just fell open on a hard turn.
What: Going for a joyride in Crowley's Bentley.
When: This glorious afternoon.
Where: The grounds.
Rating: G.
He’s explored Paradisa head to toe, snuck around on window ledges, poked his nose into every nook and cranny he could find. Dick’s brought him down to the caves to find traces of Batman’s presence, and he’s spent hours poring over the journals, looking for something, anything of use... and all for nothing.
As a result, Damian is bored.
Most bored kids sit around and complain, or flop in front of the television for hours, or find a book to flip through. Some might even be driven to wander around, or go to the park in town, or find someone to play with. It could be any number of normal, mundane things to while away the hours.
But not Damian. When boredom rears its ugly head, Damian gets himself into trouble.
And luckily for him, trouble is easy to find... particularly because it’s parked outside, in the form of a gleaming black Bentley.
Damian eyes it from the lawn, temptation bubbling up in him. It wouldn’t be hard.
He invites himself into the car, glad these old fashioned things are easy to get into: they have poor construction, and the edging outside the doors makes for a fantastic booster step. Not having reliable windows helps, too. He climbs over the door and slides into the seat, the journal landing on the seat beside him. Without hesitation, he produces a screwdriver head from his utility belt and tries it in the ignition. No go.
For the first time in a long time, he’s pleased that Gotham is full of rich people with old-fashioned cars, giving him cause to learn how to get around them. Damian wiggles down to the floor space and strips off his gloves so he can better work with the wires, and he pops off the bottom panels from the underside of the steering column with a crack. The exposed wires seemed to match up with what he was familiar with, so he went ahead and pulled them apart.
He sorts through the wires, occasionally poking his head up to see if he had gotten the the radio by accident. The radio is just fuzz, obviously, given the castle’s lack of radio stations. After a bit of fiddling, however, he locates the right ones and disconnected them. With another metal tool from his belt, he strips the plastic and twists the wires together... only to get shocked.
The yelp he gives as he jerks back isn’t as badass as he’d like, but he’s quick to put his gloves back on for insulation against shocks. Damian grits his teeth. At least it isn’t as bad as his encounter with Scarlet’s taser; he still has the electrical burns from that.
He carefully reaches under and touched another set of wires together; the car roars to life, lights and all, idles long enough for Damian to start to get the exposed wires out of the way, and then splutters and dies.
Damian swears, poking his head up enough to look at the dashboard. After a bit of inspection, he discovered the gas tank was empty.
Easily solved.
Five minutes later, Damian is smirking as he floors the gas pedal, sitting on the extreme edge of the seat to get far enough forward to reach, hands gripping the steering wheel hard. The Bentley shoots forward like a bat out of hell.
Interesting, because this bat probably just invited himself into it... especially when his journal just fell open on a hard turn.