The trick is this [OPEN]

[realson]

Characters: Damian Wayne/Robin and YOU!
Setting/Location: Wandering around inside the caravan, starting with the kitchen.
Date & Time: Day 4, morning.
Warnings: It's Damian.
Summary: The past few days Damian has mostly been hoboing living in the surrounding forest, he finally returns! Also very much in need of a shower, feel free to point this out

Comments

[littlestbastich]

Damian, being a possessor of very sharp reflexes, would have no trouble with what was waiting for him just past the kitchen doors. His timing couldn't have been more unfortunate had he lacked said reflexes, but as it stood, the tin cup that came zipping out of nowhere at a breakneck speed was, perhaps, no trouble at all. It would dent something, be it a door, a wall, or some unlucky visitor.

The thrower would...well, not give a frag, as he'd say. Slo-bo had been chucking items here and there as he pleased in his own search, parts of him hoping to tick off the oversized dog that he'd spied in there days earlier. A fight would help alleviate all that boredom. What a fraggin' drag, this stupid trip. The least that the kitchen could do was provide something either delicious or something to beat up.

[realson]

It was fortunate for the both of them that Damian did have those reflexes, really. The tin cup went whizzing over his head, narrowly missing as Damian ducked just in time, having heard rather than seen the incoming object. It served as a good, instant reminder of just why exactly Damian didn't want to be here. Hell truly is other people.

He straightened again with an annoyed noise, scanning the area for the culprit and narrowing his eyes from behind the mask at said culprit when Damian spotted him. He was rather hard to miss what with all the items being send flying about from one direction. "Watch it, you lummox!" He barked.

[littlestbastich]

Slo-bo certainly knew that someone was on their way in, but whether or not he aimed that cup was hard to say. He wasn't looking where he was tossing, but great ears make up for poor sight, and poor sight was what Slo-bo had to deal with from now on. Even so, no level of blurriness could really alter just what--no, who--he saw when he did bother to give a glance behind him.

Well, well, well. A crude, unapologetic sneer drew itself across his pasty face, lips curled on one side to bare teeth. He had no friends, he'd say; that stupid pipsqueak justice squad was just a convenience item for fights, he'd say. Even so, the sight of this was...offensive.

"Yer too short t'be Birdboy," he said, clapping dust off his hands as he rose. "N'y'smell worse. Bloody-like. Who th'frag're you?"

[realson]

Oh, that's just great. Another freak who happened to be acquainted with Drake. There were way too many of those around but then, one was already too much for Damian's taste. He didn't have to deal with those idiots back home, save for that one time where the Teen Titans had helped with taking care of his grandfather's assassins... and had proceeded to raid his father's fridge. At least those had known about Red Robin, but obviously Drake had failed to inform the rest of his little metahuman posse.

He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and crossed his arms instead. Damian was hungry, dirty, tired and really not in the mood for this but he stood his ground, matching the sneer with a haughty one of his own and as looking defiant as always.

"Robin. The new and improved version," he replied, before the sneer turned into a scowl. "What are you, more of that Teen Titan riffraff?"

...I typed this yesterday, and apparently forgot to hit post. /facepalm

[worstvampever]

The one thing he couldn't get over what that smell. It smelled..horrible. No evidence of its cause in sight, and Conrad wondered for a moment if he should try to follow it to see who had dragged something dead into the caravan (and accordingly thrash them for it), or if he should keep walking and try to purge it from his olfactory nerves entirely. If the sun hadn't been out, maybe he'd have gone to get some flowers or something. As it was, he was stuck inside, and maybe it was some kind of morbid curiosity that had him following the scent.

Like seeing a train crash into a cow on the tracks, and being unable to look away.

And it was only made worse by his new sense of smell, disgusting and unpleasant, and seriously what was that dead thing and why was it inside. Even Hanna's zombie friend smelled better than this

[realson]

Damian's attention was successfully diverted from wanting to lash out at Slo-bo and he swiveled around to face the doorway at the sound of a new voice. Of course someone had to come in and meddle, it figures. People always had to despite whatever consequences. He regarded the newcomer critically for a moment and, after deciding said newcomer wouldn't be a threat, he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"There's a swine in the kitchen." He replied curtly, nodding his head in the direction of Slo-bo before turning around and moving to continue his search.

Hopefully the 'ignore and it will go away' tactic would work here.