14/Cash Crop

Cash Crop
Date of Scene:	18 February 2020
Location:	Park Row - Bleake Island
Synopsis:	The Scion of the Al Ghul clan pays a visit to the Waynes.
Cast of Characters:	Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne

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Bruce Wayne has posed:
"It's half an hour, tops, Dick," Bruce reminds his ward. Even if said ward is a legal adult and prominent detective and superhero in his own right; some things never change, even with time. Bruce smiles at a passing waiter and snags two glasses of champagne, and passes one to Dick nearby. The billionaire even makes a show of taking his 'acid reflux' pills, before sipping the alcohol carefully.

A friendly smile is pasted on Bruce's face as the two of them meander through the Gotham Rose Club's annual charitable fundraiser at the Wayne Botanical Gardens. It's an afternoon affair, meaning blazers and dresses instead of tuxedos and gowns. Still, it's a charity event at 4PM on a Monday, so the wealthiest of Gotham are still there showing off how little they care for such trivalities as 'work schedules'.

"I heard the Yakuza were pushing into the Bludhaven docks." The words come almost silently, pitched low at Dick's ears and in an entirely different tone of voice. Bruce speaks without moving his lips, looking like the congenial host he is. "Matsama's people. The Nishimi don't take that sort of thing well." Bruce's eyes flicker to Dick and a brow lifts, a subtle invitiation for Dick's perspecitve on the topic.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Some of us have real jobs, Bruce." Dick responds, glancing at his phone again. His tone is teasing, however, there's no real heat in his words as he sits at the side of the table that Bruce is heading, hands folded politely in his lap before his hand comes up to take a sip from his champagne. "Plus, you know how these things go. The old money shows up, the young eligible ladies ooh and aah and fawn over you and your bachelor status and the usual rain of 'when will you settle down?' questions that will feed the social page tomorrow."

His amusement remains showing, having a good time with his adoptive father as he mentally chews and mulls over the words and information being fed to him. "Do you want me to tip off the locals? Or is this something you want me handling?" he asks in a sotto voce as he disguises speaking with a sip of champagne. "I'd prefer not to have a Yakuza war on the streets of Bludhaven." he admits quietly to himself.

Though there's a slight smirk. "Do I even want to guess where you got this information?" he adds with a slight grin.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Why do you think I brought you along?" Bruce quips, speaking normally, and settles into the seat as well. Their body language isn't closed to the room, per se, but it's obviously a few moments of respite for some 'family talk' to the casual observer. "I'm going to push you into the nearest group of dowagers and run for the exit. Alfred's got a car warmed up and waiting." He grins at Dick, hoists his glass, and sips.

The conversation that can be overhead is the height of banality, friendly familial banter. Bruce's fingers flex in subtle ways that look almost like a random tapping on the table but which convey meaning coded in a language only a handful of people in the world know.

<Information should be from you,> Bruce says. His tone conveys a mild reprimand. <Paper Cranes talked about it. Cell chatter intercepted. Not telling you how to handle it. Telling you it is happening. Bludhaven = your responsibility.> His hands fall silent and one shoulder rises and falls slightly. Dick is a grown man and made clear his policy about Bludhaven long ago. Batman clearly respects Dick's desire for independence and control of that area, just as he did when he declared Gotham off-limits to external vigliantes.

Still. Paternal concern is sometimes hard to ignore.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Oh no, I'm not chum in the water tonight." Dick responds, a smirk as he uses his own word-play there. "I have enough problems with a girl at home." Hopefully Bruce has read that report and has insight on things, but if not. "Giving her a couple of days, then going to take her to a new place. Plenty of room there." he offers in response to that part of it before he stills and listens to the conversation in Morse, and a smirk creases his features. They're going to play that game?

Because you have always been so forthcoming in infomration? comes the response in perfectly inflected Latin as he pokes his fork at his dinner plate in thought. The whole idea of leaving was to give me room to spread my wings, Bruce. I won't come running to you with every piece of information I have and looking for your feedback. he explains with a frown, looking thoughtful. But I need to be able to do my own thing. He's keeping it all nebulous to prying ears, because Google translate can be a pain in the ass.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce grins. Ever so slighly, a subtle crinkle of his eyes that's more a measure of Batman bleeding through the mask than Bruce Wayne being amused. Not stepping on your toes, Bruce replies, in careful Greek. Intelligence networks only work if we pass information both ways. Not coming to Bludhaven to clean up the mess for you. You can handle a bunch of drift racers pushing amphetamines to office drones.

"Yeah, how's that going?" Bruce inquires in casual English. The dual converstions would be maddening for anyone not accustomed to the dual trains of thought, but it's part and parcel of the Bat-family repetoire of tricks. "Just stay out of the tabloids, they've already got enough red ink on me. Last thing you want is the papparazos showing up to get snapshots of you busting a crook mid-heist."

Dick Grayson has posed:
Swahili is the next up to bat as Dick smirks slightly. I appreciate the information, Bruce. I think I can handle it. And I'll talk to my temporary roommate, see if she feels up to showing off. Dick offers in response, deflating his sail just a little. I appreciate it. Not fully on his guard anymore, but he knows that Bruce's information never comes for free. He'll owe him for that in some way eventually.

"At least she's not rooted in the past?" Dick offers. "She's an interesting girl. But not my type. Or rather, I'm not her type." Chuckling softly as he sips on his champagne, Dick shakes his head. "Has a girlfriend back home." he finally explains. A girlfriend that they realize she may never get a chance to see again. "Helping her get up with some clothes and such. Figure out what she wants to do, since you know, being made suddenly homeless is a bit of a shock."

Homeless may be a bit of an understatement.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Ah. Yeah, that'll do it," Bruce says sympathetically. The details of Dick's new friend are probably not wholly a surprise to Batman. Then again, few things are. "Good of you to help her out, though," he amends, a beat later. The billionaire pokes at his meal and takes a few bites of a limosine salad. It's extremely good, the sort of catering that usually means bringing an entire restaurant kitchen staff on site for a day.

There's a beat. "Listen, if.... there's something that the Foundation can do to help, just say the word," he says, cautiously. It's Bruce's voice, but Batman's the one speaking to Dick in that moment. "It's not easy to set someone up in the city with an apartment on what Bludhaven pays their detectives. There are some funds set up for that sort of thing."


Fingers flex and spread, the equivalent of a diffident shrug. Dick doesn't want charity, certainly, but it's hard not to want to at least let him know the offer is there. If he elects to accept it on Gwen's behalf, anyway.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"I know that. I'm well aware of that." Dick responds. "I tapped into some of my funds to help." Bruce would of course been alerted to the withdraw of nearly two thousand dollars from Dick's account to be used for helping Gwen to get clothes and other supplies. Spearing some of the salad, Dick take sa bite. "Why does it always take so long for the main course to arrive at these things?" comes the mild, if teasing complaint. Nightwing's listening, that much is clear, even if he's still using Dick's voice.

"She's going to need to figure out what she wants to do at some point. I think for now? She wants to try to get home." Which brings up a whole seperate issue. Adding in German, Dick eplains, Back on her home, she was accused of a murder of a villain. comes the words, as he glances aside to Bruce. He's well aware that may change the way that he decides to approach the whole thing. She says she didn't, and I believe her. Not that he can do //any// investigation on this side of the dimensional portal.

But it may warrant a visit from the Bat.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     A note is handed to one of the waitstaff, the server placing the folded note on a silver platter. "Please give this to Bruce Wayne." The boy slips the waiter a $50 for his troubles.

  The tuxedo-clad young man grasps his glass and retreats to another vantage point, higher up at the Botanical Gardens. The blonde waiter soon approaches Dick and Bruce, holding the platter to Gotham's Most Eligible Batchelor. "For you, Mister Wayne."

  Once the note is delivered, the waiter goes on about his business. The note itself reads: 'The blood of Ra's al Ghul has come to claim Gotham, Detective.' Written in Arabic, and the penmanship is lovely to boot!

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce nods once at Dick. Your call, he concludes in French. It's quite a loaded statement-- implciit trust in Nightwing's decision and his judge of character, and a subtle reminder that more hangs on that judgement than just Dick's fiscal solvency.

Batman is a man who knows how to get the most leverage out of the fewest words possible.

The note's delivered and Bruce unfolds it to scan the letters. Then he does so again, more slowly. Photographic memory notwithstanding; it's just done to buy him a few seconds of time. It's folded over and passed to Dick, facedown. Bruce busies himself with the mundane task of wiping his face and looking around the crowd. Smile. Polite nod. Everything normal here. Under cover of resettling his napkin he touches the edge of his Omega wristwatch in a certain way; everyone plugged into the Batman's network is sent a low-priority alert. Something significant is in the area.

"Sixty-five people, exits north, east, south, and southwest," Bruce murmurs quietly at Nightwing. "No concealed weapons. Waitstaff is legitimate. Service entrance?" Batman and Nightwing have done this dance enough times; guessing an avenue of attack barely requires conversation at all, let alone a protracted one. Bruce starts to get to his feet with no great hurry.

Dick Grayson has posed:
While Dick may not have Bruce's experience and years of challenges, the young man knows how to keep a Poker face when it comes down it it. His own watch beeps once in acknowledgement of the alert as he twists the watch face slightly to disable it. The note is taken to slip into Bruce's jacket beneath the table so that he can run it later in the lab.

His own smile is warm as he moves to his feet, his own voice quiet as he sets his napkin on his plate. "Doubt they'd gotten my steak right, anyway." he rumbles, as he looks over the crowd, towards where the waiters and waitresses are making their way in and out. "Service entrance." he agrees finally. "I'll head out the front, we'll move around to try to pinch them off." As he smiles, he starts to make his way through the tables. "Sorry, I wish I could stay, I really..." he says in a louder apology to a young redheaded woman. "...but they're needing some extra help at the precinct, and I need to check in." It's all apologies and such as he works the crowd and runs smokescreen for Bruce.

Damian Wayne has posed:
     The teen, in a tuxedo of his own, takes a sip of his beverage, glancing sidelong to Bruce and Dick. His aim was not to pull a move on Bruce right now, he was playing mind games. No League assassins in disguise, other than himself, of course. The boy had come alone.

  The glass is disposed of, passing it to a nearby waiter after a quick wipe of his pocket silk. The short young man kept cool as he had put his eyes on the man that had bested Ra's and Talia time and time again.

  Part of being small was being able to blend in the crowd, if only by the virtue of being lower than most peoples eye level. Damian al Ghul moved in between groups, headed now to the fundraiser's front.

  There would be plenty of time for fireworks later. If Dick was observant enough he would see Damian, tan skinned, and almost a spitting image of Bruce at his age, other than the distinct green eyes that the al Ghul clan possessed.

Dick Grayson has posed:
With Dick making his apologies and really just trying to run a flanking, he stops in his tracks as he comes across mini-Bruce. Reaching up to rub at his eyes with his fingertips pinching the bridge of his nose, the young ward knows enough of Bruce from pictures to imagine what he would look like at Damian's age.

His head immediately moves to find Bruce's table, hoping he hasn't moved yet, because this has certainetly put an interesting twist on things. And as Dick moves to intercept the young man, to try to verify... he doesn't know, a gut instinct?

He finds his own path cut off. She's Dick's age, brunette, and beautiful. "Richard Grayson!" she declares. Using his given name. Oh //crap//.

"Do you remember me?" she demands. "Gotham Middle Academy, Homecoming Dance. You //left me// and didn't even give an explanation!"

Penguin had a gun operation that night and Dick had to go out as Robin, he couldn't help it! "Uh... well, you see..."

"You were such a jerk!" she yells at him, her eyes narrowing angrilly, before she throws her drink in Dick's face. "We could have been something amazing!" she declares.

This is so not his fault. Really.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Bruce circles around the back, as planned, and intercepts Dick on the other side of the only logical path of attack. "Nothing," he says, in his gravelly voice. "No goons. No ambushes. Talia's not in sight. No whisper she was heading for the city."

He touches his breast pocket. "Letter has some clues. Scent of pinewood. Authentic vellum. Fine-tipped ink quill, not a pen. Arabic's written with a Kurdish influence but it's not Talia's handwriting. Male, I'd guess."

He looks Nightwing over, and his black brows furrow into a 'v'.

"What happened to you?" he inquires plaintively.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"I don't even remember her name." Dick says in frustration. "Brunette from homecoming in middle school, had to bail on her." Bruce with his memory would probably know this, before Dick adds. "Mini-you. Did you see him? Five foot nothing, black hair, similar build to little you, Middle Eastern skin, green eyes." he explains as he rattles off quickly. "Was trying to cut him off."

Damian Wayne has posed:
     In the middle of the hullabaloo, the young man had made his way to a car, opened by chauffeur, the car service hired by phone and paid in cash. Just as soon as he came, he left. But he had his opening salvo.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"Mini--" Bruce shakes head head. "Didn't see him. Might be someone in disguise. Come on. Car's around the corner. If Talia's in town, it's bad for everyone." His eyes flicker. "She's as cunning as Ra's ever was, and twice as short-tempered. He's at least patient. Talia will wreck half the city to get what she wants, if she has to."

There's a *bweep-boop* and a slick Lambourghini rolls up on remote control. Bruce cracks the side door and gets in. "I'll see you at the Penthouse in ten minutes," he tells Dick, and disappears into the shaded interior of the vehicle without bothering to wait for a response from his ward.

Some things never change.

Dick Grayson has posed:
"Wait, Talia?" Dick asks. But he said the handwriting was male.

And that kid was male.

And as Bruce races off, Dick takes the pocket-square handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe off his face.

And somewhere in all of that, the thought strikes him. Why would Bruce jump straight to Talia? Why would he claim a kid was in disguise? Why would...?

"....waaaaaaaaait a minute." he manages, staring at the tail-lights of Bruce's car.

And if he didn't know him so well, he'd wonder if Bruce Captain Kirk'd someone. With that, he's moving to his motorcycle to make his way to the penthouse as well.