thedcmonshead
Ra's al Ghul
I have knowledge which is alien to you, for I have tasted food fresh from dark fertile soil, and I have filled my lungs with untainted air, and I have quenched my thirst with water clear as the first day of creation, and you have not -- because you can not. Those things do not exist on this world any longer. They have been destroyed by man's lust for dominance -- a lust I know well, for at times it all but consumes me. All is corrupt, all is sick, all is dying. As am I. As are you.
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The Las Vegas-style breed of magic shows had never been terribly impressive to Ra’s--if he wanted to watch people dazzle others with lies that cost them money, watching the news was far more entertaining. But Zatanna Zatara was not the simple sort of two-bit illusionist that so many of the other ‘magicians’ roaming New York were, if the rumors were to be believed. Anyone who had dealings with someone like John Constantine was apt to be rather more in touch with the occult than their peers.
And Ra’s was in need of some magical expertise.
“Oh, please, my dear, no need to apologize. Life happens. Your show was still wonderful,” Ra’s replied with a smile, offering a hand to the young woman. “Truly impressive--especially that last trick. How long did you say you’ve been doing magic?”
@thedcmonshead
This show admittedly had not gone off to a great start, first Zatanna had been late as her flight back from her shows in Europe had been delayed and then there were some technical issues she had to deal with. Fortunately other than that the show had gone great, she’d just performed her final trick and then disappeared from the stage in a puff of smoke. The show was over and now all she had to do was meet someone who’d bought backstage tickets and then she could go home and relax, hopefully, she might be jinxing herself there. “Hi, sorry for the delay, airports, technical issues, but I hope you enjoyed the show anyway.”
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girlofstature:
“Business? What kind of business do you run?” Cassie asked curiously before her eyes went wide. “Seriously? He crashed a gala?” She tried not to sound too eager, but the thought of being at a place where a supervillain tried to crash sounded a bit too enticing to her. Maybe she just liked a good story, but likely… she missed the thrill of fighting with her team, the Young Avengers.
What business? Ha. Far too many to name. “I have my fingers in a few pies,” he demurred, “but mostly, right now, artefact catelouging and distribution. I work at the museum downtown.”
He didn’t miss the way her eyes went wide and bright at the mention of the gala, and Ra’s adopted a bemused smile even as something perked at the prospect of someone drawn to danger. “Oh, yes, did you not see it on the news? It was a few years back, granted, but got a fair bit of attention--at least in Gotham. Perhaps here in its brighter twin there were more important things to worry about than a rogue clown,” he chuckled, turning to look at the girl fully. “You seem interested. An aspiring journalist, perhaps? Future police officer?”
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From Gotham--what a terrifying thought that was. “Me? No, no. I have some business interests in Gotham, but I’m not from there.” Of course, that wasn’t exactly a sufficient explanation for how he knew the Joker--he oughtn’t to have said anything at all. Mentioning that they’d been neighbors in Arkham Asylum was not apt to end well. “He once crashed a gala I was attending.”
❛❛ i met the guy once, and once was enough. ❜❜ || @thedcmonshead
Cassie was watching the news showing through a shop window. The Joker was up to no good again and had landed back in Arkham Asylum. She was about to turn and walk away when a voice interrupted her. She turned and eyed the stranger a bit warily. “Really?” Cassie observed him more closely and came to the conclusion that there was something a bit off about him. “You from Gotham?”
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In a perfect world, Ra’s would still be at his base in the desert with his little caged bird. He’d waited long enough to get his hands on the man. Stepping away was a deprivation he didn’t find necessary.
But the world was not perfect, and no sooner had he settled back into his base after months undercover, no sooner had Tim been strung up and the beginnings of breaking the boy gotten started, than Ra’s got a message from the museum. Yes, they knew he was on vacation, and of course they wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, but they really needed his help.... He could refuse, but that would burn an otherwise perfectly enjoyable cover he’d grown rather fond of. And he didn’t need to be on hand for this early stage, here--his men were perfectly capable of beating someone to fatigue without supervision.
A few days in New York wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps he could even get some extra enjoyment out of the whole scenario by paying a visit to Timothy’s little girlfriend once more.
The scream had been delightful--a bit suspicious, perhaps, but nothing the neighbors were likely to call the police over when it could’ve been over a spider. A second scream wouldn’t do, though, so as Stephanie swung open the door, Ra’s offered her a smile, bringing his hand to the door to push it all the way open. “Scream, and your throat will be on the floor before it’s finished--and then I’d have to deal with the neighbors,” he said, voice perfectly professional despite the threat. He took a step forward to match Stephanie’s, and then another and another until he was inside her flat. He nudged the door gently closed behind him.
His eyes flicked to the scrap of fabric in her hands, and a slow smirk rose across his lips. “A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss. I thought you might want something to remember him by, and... well. He doesn’t need it now, does he?”
@thedcmonshead
It hadn’t been planned. Steph had been avoiding the sympathetic worried looks from Alfred and the overwhelming sense of numbness Tim’s empty room gave her. She was sure her apartment was dusty and the mail was overwhelming so she used that excuse to fled the manor. Her hands shook and she checked over her shoulder far too many times, keys between her fingers until she got to her door and let herself in.
Flipping through her mail, Steph paused at a small package. She ripped the yellow envelope open and looked in it. All air was zapped from her lungs in an instant, fingers shook as she reached in and pulled out the Red Roblin emblem.
Was someone screaming?
Oh.
It was her.
Her breathing was ragged and sharp, chest heaving and she could feel the tears staining her cheeks. She managed through her tears to see a torn piece of red fabric that was clutched between her fingers beside the emblem. Her knees hit the carpet and she could feel her heart breaking over and over again. Timmy. Timmy. Her Timmy was really gone. No, no, no—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Slowly, Stephanie rose to her feet and made her way towards the door with tears blurring her vision. It felt as if she was moving through quicksand. Maybe she was. Nothing felt real anymore anyways. Her heart was fully shattered into tiny pieces. She didn’t want to be here anymore. Maybe it’d be better if she just…
The door was opened. When did she do that? The person that stood before her sent a cold chill down her spine and she jerked back in an instant. Ra’s al Ghul.
#c: stephanie brown#t: sending a message [backdated]#//here we go with the tws#tw: threats#tw: gore mention#tw: implied murder#tw: torture mention#//trying a new gif thing
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cleverbxrd:
He could feel every breath.
Tim was always so very expressive.
It was unusual, for a so-called hero--Todd and Grayson had certainly been more restrained in betraying their feelings--well, except for anger, but that was par for the course. Damian’s displays of emotion had been beaten out of him during his time with the League, and while they seemed to be creeping back under the Bat’s tutelage, the boy was still generally restrained. Timothy, though, never failed to betray his unease around Ra’s, wore his anger and his fear both on his sleeve. Not deliberately, of course. There was a desire to restrain it, always, and yet the signs always slipped through the cracks.
Surveillance had shown that those cracks didn’t tend to reveal themselves around other of the little clan’s enemies. Their relationship was unique. Special.
His breath hitched under Ra’s palm, a small croak making its way out before the boy could bite it down. He was hyperventilating, hyper-focused, tension drawn tight as a bowstring from the situation collapsing around his head with no way out. ( Of course there wasn’t. Ra’s hadn’t waited this long to lose. )
And when the tension snapped, it was a masterpiece. Art unfolding in real-time. Tears were streaming down Timothy’s cheeks, but his grip lacked no strength, thumbs pressing in on the man’s trachea as his fingers compressed the carotid. Less than seven seconds in, the man was unconscious.
Tim held the grip for nearly five minutes, apparently lost in some internal spiral of thought before blood eventually broke through the man’s skin and snapped him back to the present. The little bird recoiled as if stung, and screamed as he dropped to his knees just moments after the dead prisoner had gone down with his own thud.
The line had been crossed, the line that kept Bruce Wayne and his birds from being able to fight crime nearly as effectively as they ought to be. The line the man had drilled into each sidekick should never be crossed.
Time to let Timothy stew with his thoughts for a while. Ra’s closed the distance between them, sliding a hand through the boy’s hair as his other hand slipped into one of the pockets of his robes. “Shh. Very well done, Timothy. I knew you could do it.” The faint pop of the syringe cap coming off disappeared beneath his voice and the sound of Tim’s sobs, and made it all the easier to pull it out and slip it into Tim’s bicep before the boy could notice.
He wasn’t sure he’d have even tried to fight it if he had seen it coming.
His hand slipped down around the back of Tim’s neck to keep him from keeling over in a less painful way than the grip on his hair, and he turned his attention to the assassin in the doorway as Tim’s muscles started to slacken. He’d be awake, but high, unable to do much of anything until the drug wore off. “Get him cleaned up and fed. I’ll see him in my quarters after I finish my call with Dr. Crane.” There were discussions to be had, with Timothy, and the boy had asked for privacy Ra’s had promised to give.
Well. Relative privacy.
#c: tim drake#t: this song is about being attacked by monsters#tw: murder#tw: strangulation#tw: manipulation#tw: general creepiness#tw: drugs#tw: Ra's being a goddamned CREEP#tw: utter lack of Tim Drake rights
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cxrcusbxrd:
[ ✉ ⟹ Priority 271 ] : Fuck [ DELETED ]
[ ✉ ⟹ Priority 271 ] : This can’t be [ DELETED ]
[ ✉ ⟹ Priority 271 ] : There’s no way [ DELETED ]
[ ✉ ⟹ Priority 271 ] : I knew it would be you you assh [ DELETED ]
[…]
[ ✉ ⟹ Priority 1 ] : What the hell did you do to him
[ ✉ → Grayson ] To him? Nothing.
[ ✉ → Grayson ] With him? Well, I’m afraid that’s really none of your concern anymore.
[ ✉ → Grayson ] He made his own arrangement.
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[ ✉ → Grayson ] Congratulations!
[ ✉ → Grayson ] You now have the dubious honor of being the only one of the Robin boys to have not broken your ‘code.’
@cxrcusbxrd
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cleverbxrd:
Everything felt like ice in an instant. Something was going to go horribly wrong, and he just knew it. Something he didn’t calculate for, something he didn’t plan for, something that came entirely out of left field. The torture he could expect, but not quite like this. It was the little surprises, the ones that slipped just under his radar, that kept his heart-rate skipping. Damn him.
If Ra’s could quit throwing him around like a ragdoll, maybe he’d make some kind of better decision on what to do. He could feel every point of contact, like lemon in a million tiny papercuts but it was still there. Eventually he’d have full range of motion, albeit lagging from muscle fatigue and sitting without training for a while… He wouldn’t be so up to par quite yet, not for a fighter.
Apparently, that’s not what he was here for.
He could feel the color drain from his face, felt his stomach twist and drop to the floor. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, eyes wide as he stared ahead of him and the words, barely registering after the blood rush to his head, echoing in some distant, damning voice. If he didn’t have shock freezing his every muscle, he might’ve shivered.
Executioner.
“No…” The word slipped out on its own accord, shy and timid, breathless and quiet. “No, no, I c-can’t… I can’t do this…” Of course. Of course, it was the one big thing he negated to take into any sort of plan his adversary had. It would be one of the two ultimate sacrifices he could make, something to truly turn him to the dark side. To kill would mean breaking code. To kill would mean he could never be Robin again. It meant never showing his face at the manor again even if he did manage to escape on his own. With blood on his hands, he couldn’t face Bruce anymore, and even the Batman wouldn’t allow him to roost in the Cave. His family would see him as a monster… Steph… He’s just another criminal, someone to be despised, feared, taken down.
The thoughts throbbed his head again, silent tears daring to fall as he tried to catch his breath. Panic, fear, paranoia, RUN. “… What’s the endgame?” Tim finally asked. “Beat me then… Expect me to do you a favor, when you know I don’t have any lethal combat training…” Half-Lie. He knew every vital spot to make any wound mortal, fatal, only if to help in the med-bay patching himself up.
“What… What even is his crime, Mr. Judge-and-Jury?”
The boy went stock-still in his arms, and Ra’s felt a grin grow across his lips.
Tim nearly whimpered as the word made its home in his mind and the implications settled, weak protests falling from his lips that they both knew would not stop Ra’s. Words had never been an adequate defense against the ancient assassin, despite how very good Timothy could be with them sometimes. No, Ra’s fell only to better strategy or to higher force. Timothy had never had the latter, despite his fighting abilities, and the boy was too many steps behind to make up for the loss, this time.
And he knew it, too, if the unshed tears glimmering in the boy’s eyes were any determinant.
Ra’s turned his head and chuckled against the boy’s temple. “Oh, hush, Timothy. I’ve not had you beaten that badly--you’re on your feet, after all. As for lethal combat training, there are a great many people who kill without it. The man is in chains, my boy.” The hand that wasn’t hooked around Tim to support him on unsteady feet slid up to curl around the boy’s throat and squeeze, not enough to cut off his hair but enough to threaten the flow. “Bare hands and the right leverage are all you really need.”
Ra’s could choke the boy to death with one hand, if he wanted to--the additional strength the Pit had leant him over the years in addition to his own training was more than ample for that. But Ra’s let go, after a moment of making his point.
“At any rate, you’re not doing me a favor, you’re holding up your end of the bargain we struck. Nothing I ask of you is a favor when you promised me anything. His crime is absolutely irrelevant. Of course, if you’re getting cold feet,” he murmured, starting to pull away from Timothy entirely. “I still have my men on standby in New York and Gotham. Miss Brown was so very easy to get a hold of, last time, and she’s just dying to see you again, I’m sure--perhaps I ought to do her a favor, bring her here to come see you one last time.”
A hard shove in the direction of the prisoner sent Tim stumbling. “Time to decide if you’re a man of your word, Timothy. I certainly am.”
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rxdshood:
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): i won’t need self control when i’m smashing your head in on itself.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): i’m sure even talia would be proud of my handy work. especially if it meant you looked as black and blue as wing’s suit.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): cute. you keep counting your breaths, ra’s. never know which one is gonna be your last one.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): permanently that is.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): don’t you hate it? that i got that same pit running through my veins and could squeeze the absolute life out of you with one hand? and i will one day. it’ll be my absolute pleasure even.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): i’m not as smart as tim, i know this, but you better watch your fucking back, ra’s. i’m not nearly as predictable as my family.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] Ah, yes, the feral dog act. Very scary.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] I’ve had several last breaths, I’m afraid. They just never quite manage to stick, and something tells me you’re not quite bright enough to make it happen.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] We do both have the Pit, Todd, quite right. And I have centuries of experience on you. You’re very tenacious, I’ll give you that, but certainly not that good.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] My boy, you’re more predictable than most of them. I know what’s in your head.
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cleverbxrd:
Tim missed his target. He missed it big time.
The next thing he knew, he was in almost the worst position he could imagine: pinned, back to his enemy who clearly had the upper hand. Every part of him screamed to fight back, to run, get the hell out of there no matter wherever he was in the middle of nowhere, but he couldn’t seem to move outside of a few sporadic twitches. It hurt. Everything hurt, why couldn’t he just will the pain away like usual?? This was physical, not emotional, not so easily dealt with without a healthy dose of morphine. What he wouldn’t give to have the stash kept in his belts right about now.
‘That was not wise’, yeah no shit, Sherlock. What kind of crazy plan was it to fight your captor? Why did he think that Ra’s would go easy on him just because he had favor? Maybe if he shows him how truly dumb he can be, he’ll stop praising his genius intellect and let him go. Detective work was easy anyway, there’s four other guys he can snag for that. Why him, why did it have to be him?? With his head pulled from the floor, he felt the open air hitting yet another bruise, no doubt already a dark red on skin that barely saw the light of day, trying his best to keep his head up with the motion and avoid more of this lovely torture session he’s getting. It wouldn’t work, it won’t work on him, he won’t be broken-
Options. He was given an option. Both mulled in his muddled mind with no clear answer. He could barely think straight, much less chose between two terrifying doors. If she stayed, what would truly happen? Maybe she was around to toss the bird around more in his little cage. If she goes, who’s going to stop the old man from doing exactly what he wants? Even harder to imagine still, what was the option the man with all the power wanted? From the way he spoke, the word choice, the manner of speech, he wanted to be left alone. As much as he hated to do this again, it was probably for the better of everyone… everyone but him.
“She… can go. We’re fine… Right, big guy?” Tim choked out. Compliance, yet again. He was going to have to do some serious doublethink to make sure he got out of this alive, to make sure he keeps everyone away from him. At least there’s comfort knowing he can still think rebelliously until the end. You proud of me yet, dad?
Delicious, to have Tim straining but compliant under his grip. But even more so to hear the boy’s spoken response, no doubt carefully calculated to try and give Ra’s what he wanted. Timothy was smart like that, the most clever of the birds--quite possibly more clever than the Bat himself. That was no small part of the appeal of having this particular bird caged, the knowledge that Timothy would be perfectly capable of leading the League around right under Bruce’s nose.
Eventually. They had plenty of time before then.
The smirk materialized against Tim’s neck, Ra’s hand tightening on the boy’s wrist. “Perfect, nearly, I agree. That being said, as tempting as that is, we do have one or two loose ends to wrap first. But since you’re so very excited, I’ll make sure we get a few moments alone after, don’t worry.”
The boy tensed under his grip, and Ra’s kept it for a few moments before finally shifting his weight back, releasing Tim’s hair and wrists as he rose to his feet. One too-strong tug at the boy’s bicep was enough to pull Tim up after him, and to keep him up even if his feet faltered.
“You see, Timothy, I need to make certain that you actually mean to hold up your end of our little arrangement. It’s easy to make big promises, not so easy to follow through, especially on something like ‘anything.’” The woman in the doorway stepped aside, and another man was pushed to his knees in the room, chains wound around his wrists. “If you expect me to hold up my end, I need to make sure you’ll hold up yours. This man has been sentenced to death. I’ve selected you to be his executioner.”
#c: tim drake#t: this song is about being attacked by monsters#tw: violence#tw: kidnapping#tw: death mention#tw: predatory behavior#tw: nonconsensual touching#//as mentioned before if you have any tws related to that pls blacklist this thread#//also yes Nix I hear Tim screaming but You Asked for This
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xwxynxs:
[ ✉ → Ra’s al ghul ] you’re a monster
[ ✉ → Ra’s al ghul ] and when I find you, and I will find you, I will never let you see the light of day again.
[ ✉ → Ra’s al ghul ] your free days are numbered, Ra’s. enjoy them while you can.
[ ✉ → Bruce ] There must be Taken reruns on TV again, hm?
[ ✉ → Bruce ] Very typical of you, this. Threatening to lock me away. I’ve already done time in Arkham, for all the good it did you.
[ ✉ → Bruce ] We both know you don’t have what it takes to actually solve your problems.
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rxdshood:
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): oh fuck you, you nasty motherfucker
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): dare you to try to say that to my face. i’d be more than happy to show you just what your precious pit did to me.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): i can and /will/ gut you like the bottom feeder fish you are and make you watch as you bleed out.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): don’t even think for one second i won’t kill you with my bare hands.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): i’ll make sure it sticks this time too. you aren’t getting away with this.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] Temper, temper. I see my daughter’s training didn’t do much for your self control.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] Gutting me with your bare hands would be terribly ambitious. Even for you.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] My boy, I already have gotten away with it. If Timothy couldn’t stop me, do you really think you can?
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] You’re useful as a wrecking ball, not so much in scenarios that require finesse. Not exactly your expertise.
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cleverbxrd:
Well, that wasn’t the goal. That wasn’t the goal at all. Then again, being here wasn’t a goal period. When did he get to leave again? Never?? Awesome, just fucking great.
His brain spat sarcasm and sass that his voice didn’t want to throw into the air, however little there was now, between them. The new position, the embrace, drove more hot daggers over his skin, the sting of fresh wounds very clear as he came to a near full consciousness. He tried to fight through the pain throbbing his head to focus on suppressing it again, but nearly everything he’d try at this point would be futile. He bit back a scream, the breath coming out in a high-pitched grunt. Make a fist, let it fly, it’d be so easy if he could move his damn arms.
No, no that would be dumb. That would probably earn him the loss of one of them. He had to remember who’s realm he was really in, that he didn’t have total control of the situation. Just control of how much he pissed him off. At this point, it could be almost a game. Could he get to a Foiled-Your-Plans-To-Steal-The-Wayne-Fortune mad, or a I-Destroyed-Your-Super-Secret-Base-That-I-Found-And-Rigged-To-Blow-Myself mad? … Let’s find out.
“Ra’s, if you’re not gonna’ respect my personal space, the least you could do is respect my privacy.” It was a bad idea, he knew that, but what else did he really have to lose at this point? Being the only movable appendage in his very limited toolbox, Tim bent his head forward and snapped it back, aiming for the breath he could feel at the back of his neck. He hoped he broke his damn nose. He hoped it bled. You don’t get me without my rebellion coming with, he thought, a broken smirk painfully twitching on his cheeks.
The words seem at first to be the boy’s usual sass, but then he feels the warning shift of the boy’s weight in his arms in the moment before the boy leans forward and whips his head back. That gives him enough time to turn away, just barely dodging what would surely have been a broken nose. He does get a hit to the cheek, though, enough to send a throbbing pain straight through one side of his face.
The little brat.
Ra’s throws his weight forward with Tim still in his arms, bringing them both to the floor. It’s the work of only a second to wrestle the boy’s arms behind his back, wrists pinned with a heavy grip to the small of his back while his face is pressed to the cold stone floor. Tim was a resourceful fighter, though, and Ra’s adjusted their position so that his own knees were outside Tim’s thighs, legs crossing over the boy’s to limit his ability to kick, either--the last thing he needed was a kick to the back of the head.
He shifted his hold on Tim’s wrists to one hand, though the grip was no less tight for the move, and fisted his other one in the boy’s hair, yanking his head back as he leaned down to speak lowly into his ear. “That was not wise, Timothy.”
The door starts to open, but the assassin outside only gets one step in before freezing in her tracks, very carefully not staring anywhere but ahead. “Shall I come back in a few minutes, sir?” she asked in the League’s preferred tongue, and Ra’s grinned, too-sharp, as he relayed it against Tim’s ear.
“What do you think, Timothy? Shall I have her leave us alone?”
#c: tim drake#t: this song is about being attacked by monsters#tw: assault#tw: violence#tw: kidnapping#tw: predatory behavior#//listen if you're triggered by nonconsensual touching/predatory behavior blacklist this thread tag cuz ra's just sucks
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rxdshood:
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): oh fuck you, you nasty motherfucker
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): dare you to try to say that to my face. i’d be more than happy to show you just what your precious pit did to me.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): i can and /will/ gut you like the bottom feeder fish you are and make you watch as you bleed out.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): don’t even think for one second i won’t kill you with my bare hands.
( 📩 → crusty old ass fucker ): i’ll make sure it sticks this time too. you aren’t getting away with this.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] Always so crude.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] I’d have hoped that my daughter would have taught you to mind your tongue, but that would be too much to expect of the likes of Talia, I suppose.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] Yes, yes. You’re terrifying, Todd, truly.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] That worked out so well for you before with me. Not to mention with the clown, although I’ll concede that was before the Pit.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] Although I am��told he’s still going through Arkham’s revolving door. If you can’t muster the courage to get rid of him, I’m certainly not going to be concerned.
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] No, Timothy was always the better fighter, against me. For all the good it did him.
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Ra’s did not claim to be anywhere near as proficient with computers as the likes of Timothy. He was old, but despite the jokes the Bat’s young associates liked to fling his way, today’s modern advances were not outside his understanding. He may prefer traditionalism for a great many things, but one would be hard-pressed to find more advanced biological labs than the ones he had built in his favored bases around the world. He took the technology that suited him--the most advanced scientific equipment that aligned with his studies of medicine or biological weaponry, the communications equipment that enabled him to keep in touch with his operatives the world over, the most eco-friendly power generation mechanisms to run entire hidden cities tucked away in mountains and sand dunes and jungles across the continents.
There were some things he was very good at, with computers, and a great many more that he found far easier to simply have others worry about. Cybersecurity, and breaking it, was one such matter he cared little for--until now. Ra’s was bold, but he was not stupid enough to send someone to go after Timothy’s computers in the Bat’s own house, and he had no doubt that as soon as the boy disappeared, his most tech-literate siblings would start searching for clues in the tech he left behind.
Timothy was even more thorough and secretive than Bruce, Ra’s had noted with amusement at one point, but right now, that was a liability. No doubt he had some information on his computer that, in the wrong hands, could help his family find him.
Now it was a matter of who got to it first.
His men were making very slow progress, but so was Miss Gordon, so Ra’s had one of the men tap him in to a communications line and took his seat, settling in with his hands at the keyboard.
UNKNOWN: You sound like dear Stephanie.
UNKNOWN: Timothy has known my endgame for a while. If he didn’t share, I imagine it’s because he’d prefer you not know. Who am I to trample on his wishes?
@thedcmonshead sent:
UNKNOWN: You might not want to pull on that thread.
Barbara’s hands froze over the keys. She read the message once, twice. She let it settle, observed the way her heart rate ticked up, how she had to remind herself to take calm, even breaths. It wasn’t even a guess who the message was from. It popped up in triplicate on every screen, the blue glow of its background casting shadows across her face. He was so good at shadows. Usually Barbara would hear his name and exercise extreme caution. She could still remember Dinah’s weak voice as she tumbled into the Lazarus Pit.
Now she thought of Stephanie, and Tim, and every little thread she’d been following as she tried to trace his points of contact. She’d scanned, and scanned, and scanned again as every thread pulled loose and pointless. But she’d finally, finally found one that pulled back. There was someone else on the other end, and he’d felt the need to warn her away. It meant she was getting somewhere.
ORACLE: Making the best sewn plans of evil men unravel is my favorite past-time. What’s the endgame here, Ra’s?
#//me: wow what a douchebag#c: barbara gordon#t: threads#//i don't have suitable gifs for this so we're going gifless for now baby!#tw: kidnapping#//obtusely referenced#tw: explosion
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@rxdshood
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] Happy Resurrection Day
[ ✉ → not dead enough ] How would you like some more company than just my grandson in the undead Robins club?
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@xwxynxs
[ ✉ → Bruce ] How is the little birdie I sent limping home?
[ ✉ → Bruce ] The one I’ve got caged is just dying to know.
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