Stakeout
Title: Stakeout
Fandom: Batman (comicsverse)
Character: mystery Robin
Rating: G
Length: 210 words
Notes: Written for obi_wansgirl. Thanks to shrieking_ell for her assistance in the capacities of beta and sounding board.
Stakeout
The tiny paper cup looks so out of place with his gauntleted fingers wrapped around it. He blows into and across the cheap plastic lid and the puff of steam makes him think about how cold he should be. How cold the rest of the city is, without the ridiculous suit too thin to do anything else but pretend it's not a high-tech personal climate control. He tucks one arm around himself in half a hug and shivers, for the hell of it.
35% of body heat is lost through the head. His face is the only thing that's cold, cheeks and chin and forehead. His ears are numb, and so is the tip of his nose but it won't start running until he gets back to the 'cave. Which won't be for a while, not tonight.
He pulls the hand gripping binoculars out from under his cape and goes back to watching, like he should have been. Watching the shadow-cape move with all the drama of a silent movie picture, and the sharp hard angles of a film noir. He studies because that's his modus operandi, always has been, and because soon he's going to be doing all those spinkicks - in living color. He smiles, feeling a lot younger than he ought to be and older than he is.
Fandom: Batman (comicsverse)
Character: mystery Robin
Rating: G
Length: 210 words
Notes: Written for obi_wansgirl. Thanks to shrieking_ell for her assistance in the capacities of beta and sounding board.
Stakeout
The tiny paper cup looks so out of place with his gauntleted fingers wrapped around it. He blows into and across the cheap plastic lid and the puff of steam makes him think about how cold he should be. How cold the rest of the city is, without the ridiculous suit too thin to do anything else but pretend it's not a high-tech personal climate control. He tucks one arm around himself in half a hug and shivers, for the hell of it.
35% of body heat is lost through the head. His face is the only thing that's cold, cheeks and chin and forehead. His ears are numb, and so is the tip of his nose but it won't start running until he gets back to the 'cave. Which won't be for a while, not tonight.
He pulls the hand gripping binoculars out from under his cape and goes back to watching, like he should have been. Watching the shadow-cape move with all the drama of a silent movie picture, and the sharp hard angles of a film noir. He studies because that's his modus operandi, always has been, and because soon he's going to be doing all those spinkicks - in living color. He smiles, feeling a lot younger than he ought to be and older than he is.