[Application for taxonomites]
Your name/crazy internet handle/whatever: KaOS
Personal journal: nevermore_1313
Email: promotedtocondiments@gmail.com
AIM: orderfromka0s
Characters in Taxon: stepintoshadows , willkeeptrying , dreadedbluetail
Character name: Damian Wayne AKA Robin
Genre (TV/books/etc): Comics
Fandom: DC Comics / Batman (we'll say AU since it's not directly in line with canon...?)
Birthday: September 4, 2000 / 17
Canon point: we shall say 6 years post-"The Streets Run Red" (Batman & Robin numbers 23-25 if you want the run specifically)
Why this Character and Canon point?: For whatever reason I have a strange draw to characters that have...shall we say "difficulties" adjusting to normal society. I find their inability to fit in the way others think they should, and in most cases their outright refusal to do so, very compelling, their reasoning included. Damian's a pint-sized assassin who tries his hardest to prove his worth to his crime-fighting father. He struggles with his own identity and how he fits into the world on a regular basis from the perspective of a kid who has known few, if any, kindnesses, but he manages it somehow. He's horrible, insulting, arrogant and stubborn to a fault and seems bent on taking on the entire world just because he thinks it's against him, but these very qualities are what make him endearing. You want him to beat the odds. Even if you do kind of think he would benefit from being taken down a peg or five.
Bringing him from 6 years after the conclusion of the latest arc accomplishes two things. 1. It ages him up to meet the age requirement in a natural way, giving him experience to match; while in the series he usually acts much older than his eleven years, it isn't really a substitute for real maturity. And 2. coming into the game he'll be at least a little less rough around the edges. He'll still be paranoid about everyone around him, still have his Father Issues, still feel violence is the best course of action and tend towards arrogance (not to mention be behind in more than a few Facts of Life he's opted to ignore for their lack of reason), but he'll be at least a little more receptive to those around him, allowing him to fit in somewhat rather than constantly be railing against everything like a spoiled brat. I would hope he'd have at least a few more interpersonal skills a few years down the line, even if I don't hold out any hope for tact or actual manners.
And who knows. It might even do him some good to be stuck around people on a regular basis.
Programmed Possession: The flying Batmobile. Fully operational, it's the first thing Damian latched onto when arriving in Gotham for the first time and since then it's kind of become something of a pet project (or at least it was when Bruce was "dead"). It's a continual reminder of who he is, or at least who he wants to be, and usually serves as a way to stay close to a father who most days seems to want nothing to do with him. Chances are he'll start tinkering with it again once he starts getting homesick.
It's fully functional, but per the Hamsters' usual tricks it's also much limited. It can fly, and all its defensive systems are in place, but weapons are completely off-line and will be unable to be got running again for the forseeable future (outside of pre-discussed plot-related reasons which will necessarily be short-lived).
Abilities/Weaknesses:
Years of training first as an assassin and then as Robin has equipped Damian with the kind of competence and familiarity with weaponry and martial arts that is usually found in someone much older. He often reacts on instinct, and it's only with lots of practice that he's learned to check his attacks so as not to kill. He's also proven more than proficient with technology of most kinds, from computers to iPods to the most sophisticated mainframe you could think of (although he often overestimates his own abilities); he's got an affinity for gadgets, how they work and how the pieces fit together, and tends to focus in on any new gizmo he isn't familiar with until he is.
While trained by the World's Greatest Detective, and given his own tendencies towards logic and order, observation is not his strong suit. He can put facts together and find the connections and meaning, but usually he needs a prod to get started; it's not that he doesn't see it, he just doesn't always think it's important right away. His own skill set runs more towards tactics and planning, on sneaking around and launching an attack when the recipient sees it coming least, on approaching a situation and using his strengths and the enemy's weaknesses to win regardless of cost. In that vein, he's quite adept at deception and misdirection, at hiding in the shadows (even if he rarely has the patience to stay there) and at surviving. He's an excellent mimic, and while he's in no way superhuman, thanks to training he has a heightened resistance to deprivation (air, food, water) and torture.
Unfortunately, his greatest strengths are also his greatest weaknesses. Damian has an almost dogged determination to see things through to the end, and a boundless enthusiasm for winning, at any cost. But this usually puts him somewhere in the realms of a Cavalier; his tendency is to continue to fight even when the odds aren't in his favor, even when continuing to fight is only likely to get him seriously injured if not worse. He's headstrong and arrogant to a fault, meaning he truly believes he will inevitably come out on top, and outright refuses to accept otherwise. Even when not in a physical altercation, this tends to cripple his ability to relate to others or have deep, meaningful relationships simply because he usually finds himself in an argument just by virtue of his own personality. He's grounded in logic, choosing to define the world in terms of it, and anything that defies it is cast off as unimportant. Moronic. Not worth his time or energy. He is continually baffled by the people around him (himself occasionally included of late) simply because he doesn't understand why they act as they do. Why follow people around with blind adoration when it's clear they care nothing for you? Why bother with pleasantries when you can barely tolerate the person you're speaking with? Why subject yourself to near constant humiliation when you don't gain anything from it?
Psychology/Personality:
Damian most often gives the impression of a surly child. Your typical rebellious teenager, all defiance and distilled rudeness that tends to have a habit of emerging at exactly the wrong times. Damian approaches the world with the belief that he is better than everyone and everything, that he is entitled because he is the Son of the Bat; he had it drilled into his head often enough as a child, after all, and years of hearing little else tends to have staying power regardless of circumstance. Years amongst people his own age and running across rooftops to save people and fight crime has dulled this some, of course, but it still emerges often enough to more than occasionally be a problem. It's seldom, then, that he doesn't come into conflict with someone, at some point, butting heads over valid opinions or simply because he feels compelled to push that button you'd really rather he didn't. He seems to have a talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time, and as a result it takes a certain type of person to tolerate him for long since he has a horrible habit of alienating people for no real reason.
Although, in his defense, it really isn't his fault. Growing up amongst assassins, molded and trained to be little more than a weapon for his grandfather's war against his father, things like kindness and affection weren't particularly prized. A tool is better sharpened when hammered and tempered, tested and pushed to the breaking point rather than coddled and nurtured, and so it is little surprise that the resulting individual forged from their idea of "raising" is riddled with violent impulses and social difficulties. Attempts to be kind are habitually mistaken for ploys to find his weaknesses or manipulate him in some way, and it's only with focused effort that he will accept it otherwise. The world is a war against him as far as he's concerned, and he's determined to win.
But for as much as he wants to have nothing to do with people, as much as he claims to dislike them if not outright hate them, it's really not that simple. He likes to help, he wants to be a force for good and prove that he's not the tool his mother forged him into, that he's his own person, and so he struggles through life trying to balance it all, trying to find his place in things. Above all he's desperate for a Father Figure, someone he can truly respect and who will in turn be proud of his accomplishments. While fiercely independent, he is almost constantly seeking approval; he rarely sees Bruce, after all, more commonly stuck at Grayson's side, and while he's gained a reluctant sort of respect for him he sees him as more of an equal than an adult. He's cast him in the Father role for now because he deals with him the most, but it's not quite the right fit.
The years since he first became Robin have changed him some, made him if not more sympathetic to those he saves at least more patient in dealing with them, and instilled a rudimentary code of ethics (although while he knows it, that doesn't always mean he follows it). He no longer responds to most introductions with violence (no matter how much he may want to), although threats aren't unheard of, particularly if the situation is hostile or unfamiliar to begin with. He's still difficult to work with, and his arrogance if anything has only gotten worse, but he's finally learned the value of at least attempting to get along with others, even if he rarely does unless it's absolutely required. Puberty, particularly, has not been met well, making him if anything only more volatile and subject to mood swings. For perspective, imagine the typical reaction you might get from a teenager when an adult informs them they're making a bad decision, or attempts to give them any kind of advice. Now imagine that being received by someone who is, for all intents and purposes, a prodigy in most things, already confident by the age of ten that he knew everything that was worth knowing and is by definition better than everyone else in every way, and who doesn't mind informing everyone of that fact.
You see the problem.
History:
Damian Wayne, known in the first instance of his long and occasionally convoluted history as Ibn al-Ku'ffasch (literally "Son of the Bat"), is the result of a breeding experiment, essentially. In an attempt to gain an upper hand over Batman, Talia al-Ghul decided to create the Perfect Weapon against him. After obtaining a DNA sample from none other than Bruce Wayne himself, and with the help of modern science, Damian was born.
From the age of four, he was trained by the League of Assassins to be the perfect weapon. He never questioned, never had second thoughts, merely soaked up the lessons as soon as they were given and did what he was told. There was no alternative, after all, he knew nothing other than what his mother told him of things, and with no other basis to compare it to it was accepted unquestioningly. She had Great Plans for him, and he was quite content to accept them. To make her proud.
But then her Grand Plan was put into motion, and everything changed.
At the age of ten, already a formidable warrior in his own right, he was sent to Gotham under the pretense of helping his father. He had been told since he could remember that one day the three of them would be a family (although whether this was in fact the actual plan all along is up for debate), that Bruce would accept him as his own and a New Age would begin, a new world with them presiding over all. In actuality, the goal was to create more problems for the Bat, disrupt the workings of the team from the inside. Things didn't go according to plan, of course, as Talia proved to have played her hand too well; when placed in the custody of the father he had until now never met, Damian was unwilling to be as much of a problem for him as his mother had hoped. While he of course caused trouble, it was nowhere near on the scale she had planned for, more along the lines of a petulant child than a malicious gremlin; from the moment he arrived at the Batcave he began trying desperately to get into his father's good graces by proving himself worthy and capable of fighting at his side, albeit more enthusiastically and questionably than was entirely necessary. Most would argue that beating the current Robin, Tim Drake, a boy he immediately saw as his biggest competition for Batman's favor, into a bloody pulp was a bit excessive.
Even if he did end up dispatching the villain, bringing his decapitated head back to the Batcave as proof of his skills despite the fact that he'd been locked in his room for his temper.
However, it seemed to get the message across, though not for the reasons he had anticipated. Batman didn't kill, after all, and neither did Robin; Damian's actions were too unpredictable, put too much at risk. He was brought along on Batman's next mission so that Bruce could keep a better eye on him, a mission which took them to London to find the source of a group of Man-bats who had been wrecking havok.
Where Talia was waiting.
He hadn't meant to spring the trap, but he had anyway. It had all been part of the plan, he had been groomed to play the part unwittingly if he wouldn't voluntarily. Sides were offered, an alliance proposed, but Batman, ever the caped crusader, refused, and Damian was reluctant to pick a side himself when forced to choose between the father he idolized and the mother who had raised him. The aftermath left many dead, but significantly less casualties than there could have been. Damian was brought home, his own injuries (not insignificant - explosions are seldom benign, after all) healed, and his mother left again to plot.
The next year of his life saw more action and chaos than the previous ten combined. His grandfather came back from the dead and tried to steal his body to return to full life, an endeavor only successfully stopped when Batman arrived to intervene and suggested using a Lazarus Pit to achieve the same end goal instead. Damian returned to Gotham to again attempt to prove his worth as a vigilante to his father, only to learn of his death at the hands of the Cirque d'Etrange and the Velvet Glove weeks later when he had been indisposed elsewhere and unable to help. In the following weeks he finally got his wish, to play Robin to Batman, only the Batman was "second rate," nothing but a former Robin who had opted for his own independence years previous. Needless to say, Damian was less than pleased about the arrangement.
However, it worked, for the next year or so. And longer; Bruce eventually returned, having been merely displaced in time and not killed as had been assumed, but while he did take on the cowl again, he was still not the Batman to Damian's Robin. Instead he created Batman, Incorporated, and left Damian to team with Dick Grayson. Again. Although at least by this point the two had managed to come to some sort of reluctant friendship, so while the move chafed and irritated, he coped, and continued to do his level best to prove he was worthy to fight at his father's side in case he ever changed his mind.
Or, who knew. Some day he might graduate to the cowl himself; as far as he was concerned it wasn't as if he couldn't handle the task, a fact he made sure to remind Grayson of often.
The next six years were spent much the same. He did multiple stints with the Teen Titans at Bruce's suggestion that it might help him learn some "people skills", but each one inevitably came to a close after only a few months when it was clear Damian refused to play well with others. His only friend was Grayson, he proclaimed, and he needed no more. By now he's gone up against the Joker more times than is probably entirely healthy, singlehandedly put more than a few supervillains behind the bars at Arkham, and is well on his way to taking that cowl for himself one of these days. He can't be Robin forever, nor is he content to accept otherwise. Drake is already out on his own running around as "Red Robin", why shouldn't he be a superhero in his own right?
Of course, then came Taxon, and all kinds of wrenches were thrown in the gears. Not that it's likely to stop him for long.
Arrival Post (Third Person)
It's an average night in Gotham. The city's alive with people, all bustling chaos and shining naivety, the vast majority ignorant of the other world bristling just under the surface.
It makes Damian sick, actually. That they pass through the streets and just assume everything will be perfect. Planned. Ordinary.
He scoffs, knowing better. Not that he's paying much attention to them at the moment; he's knee-deep in nondescript henchmen, after all. "This is so far beneath my abilities," he scowls, fist making impact with a man who evidently thought feathers was an excellent costume choice. He grunts, and the sound, coupled with the way the man crumples under the force, elicits a feral grin. One down, five to go.
...Provided his partner will allow him any more. The flash of grey and black pauses in motion just long enough to glance his way, and despite the fact that the gesture is so out of keeping with the image of Batman he can almost hear the accompanying eyeroll. "You always say that, and then you end up needing me to bail you out. I'll start believing it when it actually shows."
Another feathered heap collapses to the ground, incapacitated with a shot to the solar plexus, and Damian whirls to face the next one, yellow cape trailing behind him. "Only because I'm not allowed to kill them. If I could do things the way I was trained to I wouldn't need your help."
"Batman and Robin don't kill."
It's an old argument, one that has long since lost any real vehemence, though it clearly still chafes the younger vigilante. He loathes teamwork, having to rely on the abilities of others for success, and while he knows objectively that Grayson's more than capable of holding up his end, he still hates it. He yearns for the day he's no longer leashed to a second-rate Bat and can strike out on his own.
Nevermind that Grayson truly isn't as terrible in the cowl as he repeatedly accuses. It's hardly the point. He doesn't want it, not like Damian does. He only continues to wear it because Bruce asked and few have the audacity to turn down his requests. It used to awe him, knowing his father had that kind of power over people, but these days it only irritates him that his allies are so spineless.
A flip and a kick to the back of knees and the last one drops, a shot to the jaw that's maybe a bit too enthusiastic silencing the surprised moan. Damian spares a moment to hope he cracks his head on the pavement; it's the same thing every night, there hasn't been a decent villain in months, and he's starting to get restless. For once he departs from the script. "Maybe these idiots would think twice about committing crimes if we did."
It's hardly the right thing to say, too close to something Jason might have said in the same circumstance, and Damian knows he should probably have kept it to himself. It's bad enough his father already views him as a disappointment, he doesn't need to add 'lost cause' to the list as well. But it doesn't make it any less true, so he stands by it, chin raising in defiance as Grayson approaches, clearly angered.
"What? You know I'm right." Somewhere a warning bell goes off, telling him he should back down now, but it's far too late for that. He's never put much stock in rolling over, in taking back words. It may not be nice to hear, but it's nevertheless true, and Circus Boy can't deny that no matter how much he might want to. As twisted as Jason is, he does have a point, to a degree. Not all criminals can be locked up and expected to be rendered harmless indefinitely, the escape rate at Arkham is proof enough of that. How many times can the Joker get loose to ruin the lives of innocent people before it's obvious he needs something more permanent than being locked in a rubber room?
The glare speaks volumes, despite the fact that he doesn't say a word, something known more by feel than sight. There's a lecture coming, Damian can tell, and he'd like nothing more than to not have to be subjected to it, considering they seem to have it or something like it at least once a week.
"Nevermind," he spits out, kicking at one of the unconscious goons because he knows taking his frustrations out on Grayson with the way things stand at the moment will only gain him further trouble and in all likelihood a return to the 'no knives while at home' policy. "I don't need this. I'll see you later." And with that he spins on his heel and takes off across the rooftops, practically thrumming with energy that now has no means of exit, ignoring the shouted protest that echoes behind him.
Buildings pass under his feet, anger fuelling him to keep moving long after he's stopped paying attention to where he is. He leaps from one apartment complex to the adjoining one, but when he lands, skidding to a stop that leaves him in a crouch, cape unfurling around him as the momentum plays out, something isn't right. The building's gone, the concrete under his feet (and the loss of traction is as much responsible for the skid as the change in scenery), and so is the night itself. Instead he's greeted with lights, bright enough to remind him of his mother's infirmary, only the room seems to be empty. No operating tables, no huge tanks filled with special fluid to accelerate healing. No doctors.
And yet he doesn't feel like he's alone. He looks around the room, side to side, top to bottom. No doors. No windows. No visible exits of any kind, but a device that looks like a communicator and a strange device in the ceiling. He approaches the communicator, careful not to touch it until he knows for sure what it is, and addresses it, glaring at it through his mask.
"You. Idiot. Person observing at large - because I know you're watching. Someone is, anyway. Whose wrist do I have to break to speak with whoever is in charge?"
Additional Third Person Sample:
He had underestimated. Grayson had warned, had cautioned against entering the room on his own, but he hadn't listened. He had thought he knew better. He had known better; he had gone up against entire hordes of ninjas, gangs of costumed goons, one single man with an absurdly painted face and delusions of genius and madness barely registered as something he needed to be concerned about. The man was in chains, in a police station, and he had been armed. It was supposed to be easy. Simple. Extract the information, get to the heart of things, then leave him to rot.
But it had all gone wrong, and he couldn't quite figure out how. It didn't help that he was beginning to panic out of helplessness.
His face burned, muscles stretched too tight for too long, the rictus that only had a passing similarity to the grin it had once been growing painful from being forced for so long, giving him an appearance closer to a snarling animal beneath the duct tape than a grinning child. He felt as if his face would tear in half if he had to endure it any longer. The box was tight, perfectly sized for a small boy but with frustratingly little extra room. He kicked and twisted, shouts muffled by the wood as he struggled to get free, loosen anything, but it was to no avail. The Joker planned compulsively, he had tied the knots precisely as tight as they should be. He might have admired his attention to detail if he wasn't struggling not to give in to the rising panic.
Damian had never been afraid of enclosed spaces. Or much of anything, really. He hadn't had need to, and his training with the League had stamped out anything residual.
He found that was quickly beginning to change.
He'd never be able to look at circus clowns quite the same way again either.