( dick will have always come to him at a point in his life when he wanted to help someone else and, in doing so, he himself was helped in ways he never thought he needed. )
[Rather than spend his time texting anymore, Dick does what he set out to do with the first text he got, which was visit Bruce. There had been days when he'd been happy after he left, but not a lot of them. He'd become increasingly disillusioned about who he was if he wasn't Batman's Robin anymore.
Maybe it wasn't the traditional bond, but they'd had... something together. Fighting in Gotham's underbelly was life. They'd both been raised into the darkness. The trip was fast. Dick never moved slow. Not too much time lapsed before he was letting himself into the mansion like he always did. It took a little bit before he found Bruce. ]
Hey. Did you ever decide on dinner?
[He spoke rather softly, even though he knew that Bruce was aware the second he'd crossed the manor's threshold.]
( he's half-expecting dick to show up, in all honesty. so when he does, he's not all that surprised.
sitting there in a far too elaborate looking chair, he's staring at a menu he holds between his hands before he glances past it — glances to dick — then looks back to it. )
Not yet.
( but he's working on it.
a glance past the menu again, it's over to a bar cart there on the side, one he knows dick has seen before and thus, knows already the assortment of drinks on there with the glasses in various sizes. )
[It's never really a casual beer between them, but the cart looks equally as good at this juncture. Crossing the room, Dick grabs two glasses and pours them each a glass of Bruce's fine bourbon. Moving back, he settles on a chair near his mentor and places the alcohol next to him.
He scans Bruce from top to bottom, looking for new bruises, cuts or the like. It's not like he'd worry over them. He knows they are fairly normal in their line of work. There's rarely a night that goes by where Dick doesn't end up with one new bruise, despite the efficacy of his suit.
Mainly, Dick moves to meet Bruce's eyes and see what settles there. That's the tell he needs. If he can even read it.]
What's the debate? or haven't you narrowed it down?
( from behind the menu he watches dick every now and then, but. he's not at all concerned. he knows he knows where things are — knows the manor like the back of his hand. when it comes to dick knowing his way around, that's not where he might feel concern. for how all of this could go, well. that's to be determined. )
Not sure what I'm in the mood for.
( since he can't rely on himself to cook anything edible. )
I haven't had sushi in a while. You probably had it for lunch, didn't you.
[Every now and then Dick attempts to cook, and he's getting better. He makes a somewhat passable pizza with cauliflower crust, and his chicken doesn't kill him. Maybe he's got the money to order out every night, but he's been trying to do things all on his own and rely less on the bank account that came with being a part of the Wayne world.
Even if it's only now here with Bruce that his heart settles a little. He hates that it does. There's anger there, but he does his best not to let it overwhelm the simple moment of a drink and dinner.]
So, how have things been?
[It's a loaded question, but what else is there to talk about? Dick leans forward as he asks it.]
( he glances up from the menu at that first question but, in typical bruce fashion, doesn't answer it. the second question, however, he mulls over for a bit — picking something to order finally and reaches for his phone. )
The usual.
( he feels it's hardly surprising for an answer, the soft clicks from his phone filling the silence between them as he places his order — inputs the proper payment method. )
You've been busy.
( it's not a question. more a fact. because bruce tends to just... know things, a lot of the time. chalk it up to his being a detective and all, or the fact that he tends to keep tabs on people. especially those close to him. even if they might not always be aware of it. )
[It's hardly an answer, but Dick didn't expect anything else. He takes a sip from his drink, leaning back in the overly large and yet hardly comfortable chair. Things like this were made to look at and not spend time in. At least that's always what he thought. That's why he never bought himself anything that looked like it, ever.
There's a sound that escapes him at Bruce's observation. Yes, he's been busy. What else is there to do, but keep his time occupied. He's left town, returned, left, come back again and lately he's been fighting crime the way he knows how. Lord knows there's plenty in Gotham for the both of them.
Tapping at the glass with a ring on his finger, he nods at Bruce.]
Like either of us would ever let moss grow under us.
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gutties) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2023-09-15 12:01 pm
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If that's how you feel.
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Maybe we could have a beer sometime.
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Where?
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( reclusive prince of gotham and all. )
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When would you like to meet?
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( he'd deserve it. )
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Maybe I need to come stay for a few days.
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You got morbid. I get it, but man I worry.
Maybe we both need this drink.
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Maybe it wasn't the traditional bond, but they'd had... something together. Fighting in Gotham's underbelly was life. They'd both been raised into the darkness. The trip was fast. Dick never moved slow. Not too much time lapsed before he was letting himself into the mansion like he always did. It took a little bit before he found Bruce. ]
Hey. Did you ever decide on dinner?
[He spoke rather softly, even though he knew that Bruce was aware the second he'd crossed the manor's threshold.]
no subject
sitting there in a far too elaborate looking chair, he's staring at a menu he holds between his hands before he glances past it — glances to dick — then looks back to it. )
Not yet.
( but he's working on it.
a glance past the menu again, it's over to a bar cart there on the side, one he knows dick has seen before and thus, knows already the assortment of drinks on there with the glasses in various sizes. )
Help yourself in the meantime.
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He scans Bruce from top to bottom, looking for new bruises, cuts or the like. It's not like he'd worry over them. He knows they are fairly normal in their line of work. There's rarely a night that goes by where Dick doesn't end up with one new bruise, despite the efficacy of his suit.
Mainly, Dick moves to meet Bruce's eyes and see what settles there. That's the tell he needs. If he can even read it.]
What's the debate? or haven't you narrowed it down?
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Not sure what I'm in the mood for.
( since he can't rely on himself to cook anything edible. )
Suggestions?
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[Every now and then Dick attempts to cook, and he's getting better. He makes a somewhat passable pizza with cauliflower crust, and his chicken doesn't kill him. Maybe he's got the money to order out every night, but he's been trying to do things all on his own and rely less on the bank account that came with being a part of the Wayne world.
Even if it's only now here with Bruce that his heart settles a little. He hates that it does. There's anger there, but he does his best not to let it overwhelm the simple moment of a drink and dinner.]
So, how have things been?
[It's a loaded question, but what else is there to talk about? Dick leans forward as he asks it.]
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The usual.
( he feels it's hardly surprising for an answer, the soft clicks from his phone filling the silence between them as he places his order — inputs the proper payment method. )
You've been busy.
( it's not a question. more a fact. because bruce tends to just... know things, a lot of the time. chalk it up to his being a detective and all, or the fact that he tends to keep tabs on people. especially those close to him. even if they might not always be aware of it. )
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There's a sound that escapes him at Bruce's observation. Yes, he's been busy. What else is there to do, but keep his time occupied. He's left town, returned, left, come back again and lately he's been fighting crime the way he knows how. Lord knows there's plenty in Gotham for the both of them.
Tapping at the glass with a ring on his finger, he nods at Bruce.]
Like either of us would ever let moss grow under us.
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