So many sights to see, so wake up like an early birdie

[isitablurred]

Who: Superman isitablurred and a Robin birdthright
When: October 20th, morning?
Where: The batcave, and then the city.
Summary: After receiving a mysterious message about Damian's cat, Clark comes to investigate.
Warnings: Stroppy littlest Robin is the stroppiest. Warnings added if necessary.

Comments

[birdthright]

"Superman."

The voice that responds is a subtle one, not unlike the one he uses as a civilian. That personality was another facet of his own, after all. Underneath the arrogance, the sarcasm, the defensive bluster, and the need to prove his worth to all around him, Damian was a quiet child. There is a questioning in his tone, as if surprised, but it is near-undetectable. While Damian was asking for help in his own indirect way, all he did was make a statement; he did not expect Superman to come in person. It starts to sink in that he is no longer alone, and his demeanor immediately takes on something more familiar.

"That was enough to make you come all the way here?"

Around him, Clark will see numerous bat corpses -- a normal sight by now -- and a small, restless cat. Damian sits cross-legged on the floor, and the cat is hankering for a few things he's tucked securely between his arm and chest. Batarangs. Sharp ones. A trickle of blood laces the edge of the cat's mouth. It's quite clear what it's been doing for the past few minutes

[isitablurred]

"Well to be fair I'd have come out here for far less, Damian, but you sounded like you were in need of some help, and today's been a slow saving day."

Not true; he was actually here because it actually sounded like Damian needed him, and the first opportunity to bond with a Robin at their request was not to be taken lightly. Even though Damian hadn't explicitly demanded his presence.

"Has he... That's one determined cat." Chewing batarangs; and Lois thought Maskie was bad with her shoes, this was a billion times worse. "He's really been at those bats, too."

Clark pauses long enough to pick one of the dead things up, which only ends up with the cat leaping on him as though to say 'How dare you steal one of my toys.' The cat gets scruffed, and Clark raises one hand up to challenge the creature's sharp claws, blunting them easily. The cat looked utterly puzzled as it gave in, only temporarily defeated, if the scowl it gave him was anything to go by.

"Where do you keep his toys?"

[birdthright]

"I didn't need help." He clarifies, very mechanically. He's noticeably less adamant about this than he would be if Clark had come help with, say, crime-fighting. That was what he knew; taking care of a kitten was not.

At the mention of toys, Damian raises an eyebrow, as if he had never even considered such a thing, "He doesn't have toys."

[isitablurred]

Well that...explains some things, but Damian's nonchallent surprise it, to him, not that surprising at all. He nods, a plot formulating in his mind, and quietly heads over to Bruce's desk of - as yet untouched - scraps and things that he'd been working on.

Plucking a piece of almost invisible monofilament from the table, he ties it securely around what looks like a spare bat ear, and then, motioning for Damian to come over, places both cat and bat ear down on the floor.

"Young cats need to play; that's how they learn to hunt, and socialise. The dead bats? They're just a part of that. You see, any young animal needs an outlet for all the urges that they feel, and if they don't have a safe outlet--well then they go for a dangerous one. What would you do if you didn't have Robin to occupy your time? That's a rhetorical question, by the way."

He flicks the little bat ear across the ground, and the cat leaps on it like a parched man on fresh water.

"See? Now you try."

Offering the other end of the filament across to Damian.