ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN
Hobgoblin.
[This was going to hurt. Whoever'd said 'no pain, no gain' deserved to have a taste of their own medicine. Wounded leg and all, Robin jumps down from an opened ceiling tile, landing in a way to disguise that weakness. In front of him, Cal and... a mirror image of Robin. The Hobgoblin. Robin goes to rush him, his Roman blade resting ambiviolently against the other's neck.]
Long time no see. I thought you were dead. Justly dead.
[The Hobgoblin speaks with a stolen voice, identical to his own, the only difference being the lack of emotion behind it:] “I go by 'The Hob', now. A title for my inferiors.”
Which would be everyone, yes?
“No one would know that better than you, Goodfellow.” [And then, a scuffle. Robin does his best to fight someone-- something-- identical and older than even he, but with his injured leg, he barely is able to make a dent in the other's defenses. Cal shoots, and misses, and Hob disappears, jumping flat-footed ten feet up, escaping through Robin's erstwhile entrance. Cal sends five more rounds after him before asking:] Son of a bitch. You can't do that, can you?
No. He's older than I. He's grown stronger, faster.
How much older?
The oldest. Perhaps even the first. The original Mad Hatter, without the sense of humor. He's insane, Cal. Utterly. He wants what he wants, and no price is too high. No consequence worth considering. He's been the power behind a hundred thrones. Alexander himself bowed to him.
Yeah, that's all very fascinating. [But Cal is a child, remember? He doesn't understand. Give him the necessary slack; he hasn't had it easy, either.] Boost me. Then go and find the others, and tell them what's going on.
[...No. That isn't an option.] He'll kill you. [It isn't heroic, this. It's just... a responsibility.] I'll go.
[This was going to hurt. Whoever'd said 'no pain, no gain' deserved to have a taste of their own medicine. Wounded leg and all, Robin jumps down from an opened ceiling tile, landing in a way to disguise that weakness. In front of him, Cal and... a mirror image of Robin. The Hobgoblin. Robin goes to rush him, his Roman blade resting ambiviolently against the other's neck.]
Long time no see. I thought you were dead. Justly dead.
[The Hobgoblin speaks with a stolen voice, identical to his own, the only difference being the lack of emotion behind it:] “I go by 'The Hob', now. A title for my inferiors.”
Which would be everyone, yes?
“No one would know that better than you, Goodfellow.” [And then, a scuffle. Robin does his best to fight someone-- something-- identical and older than even he, but with his injured leg, he barely is able to make a dent in the other's defenses. Cal shoots, and misses, and Hob disappears, jumping flat-footed ten feet up, escaping through Robin's erstwhile entrance. Cal sends five more rounds after him before asking:] Son of a bitch. You can't do that, can you?
No. He's older than I. He's grown stronger, faster.
How much older?
The oldest. Perhaps even the first. The original Mad Hatter, without the sense of humor. He's insane, Cal. Utterly. He wants what he wants, and no price is too high. No consequence worth considering. He's been the power behind a hundred thrones. Alexander himself bowed to him.
Yeah, that's all very fascinating. [But Cal is a child, remember? He doesn't understand. Give him the necessary slack; he hasn't had it easy, either.] Boost me. Then go and find the others, and tell them what's going on.
[...No. That isn't an option.] He'll kill you. [It isn't heroic, this. It's just... a responsibility.] I'll go.