Checking in on a burned birb
Roleplaying Log: Checking in on a burned birb
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Dick Grayson stops by to check on Dinah Lance after her house burned down.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: September 04, 2019
IC Location: Gotham
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 12 Sep 2019 01:10
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

* OOC Time: Wed Sep 04 00:34:31 2019 *

* * *

Through the grape vine that is the Gotham Knights and other methods of communication made available to the more stealthy Gotham heroes (and of course, just by watching the damn news), Dick realizes that Dinah's house burned down! Thankfully, it doesn't seem like her body was found, which means she's still alive and well.

So, Grayson does the Grayson thing to do: He gets dressed after eating a hearty breakfast and goes to check on Dinah.

Yes, he texts first.

But after doing some research anyway and tracking some modicum of finance exchange, Dick tracks down the hotel Dinah is currently staying at and he swiftly arrives there. Because he's Dick Grayson and he's naturally paranoid. Dinah's one of his closest friends. He HAD to be sure she was okay. Now, time to see if he can find the Black Canary.

* * *

Dinah's texts are laconic and lack inflection. 'Sure'. 'k'. 'w ever'. For the verbose millennial, it's practically a catatonic grunting; Dinah texts faster than most people can talk.

It doesn't take Dick long to find the assigned room, a two-bed suite in a modestly priced hotel. 'Thrifty', like it was authorized by an insurance agent or something.

His knock at the door is rewarded by a sound of shuffling feet and the door unlatching. Dinah opens it and a thoroughly bedraggled and drained looking woman looks up at him. "Hey." She turns away and shuffles back towards the foot of her bed. Her clothes fit badly; loose basketball shorts in pale blue and a grey t-shirt that's too long for her torso. Red flash burns raise angry marks on her forearms, pockmarked with tiny black marks from her forearms being singed bare. One eyebrow's looking a little off-camber and there are strands of her blonde hair missing, forcing her to pull it back in a messy ponytail.

She looks like she's been through the ringer and curls up on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees close. "Babs is on a milk run. Helena had to go deal with work stuff," she explains.

* * *

Dick on the other hand, was just wearing a somewhat loose longsleeve shirt and some blue jeans. Nice black boots, too. His hair is shaggy like always, but it somehow makes him look good. Dick is just one of those people who can pull off anything (except a Perm. NEVER a perm). But he smiles when he sees her, despite how ragged she looks.

"Hey. How've you be-"

Well, at least he knows where Babs and Helena is. She's had a rough night. So, Dick does what he does best.

He walks over to the edge of the bed, next to her head, and he takes a seat. "Want to talk about it?" Is…he here for her?! "I mean, I know I'm pretty oblivious to people's problems sometimes, but I swear I have good ears. Just don't ask Barbara if its true." crappy humor to try and get a laugh.

But Dick is fully pulling the pin on the emotional grenade. Would she explode?

* * *

Dinah's shoulders roll in a neutral shrug. Her eyes, downcast, fix on a point on the wall opposite. The Canary rotates back to a sitting position, shoulder to shoulder with Dick, and wraps her arms around her thighs so she can rest her chin on her knees. Normally the biggest personality in the room, it's hard to miss how… small Dinah looks.

"Nothing to talk about." She doesn't bother to push her hair back from the corner of her eyes as it escapes her lazy ponytail. "House burned down. Dad's coming down from Portsmouth on the train right now. Jim came by earlier to check on us. Half the Gotham PD is going through the w-wreckage." She sniffs and brushes the back of her hand under her nose, still not looking at anything but the boring industrial wallpaper opposite her position. The hotel room ticks with the sound of air compressors and heating coils working invisibly in the background. Elsewhere, someone coughs loudly and settles again. The parted window curtains admit some of the hazy grey afternoon light of a muggy Gotham afternoon.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Dick apologizes. It wasn't his fault, he had nothing to do with it. But thats the reason why he's sorry. Maybe if he was there…Well, there is no time now to worry about woulda-shoulda-coulda's. Just whats ahead. When he hears that sniffle though, Dick reaches to move one of the stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear if she lets him do so.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He says as he does a risky move.

He tries to give Dinah a hug. Not a big, affectionate hug. But one of those side hugs, since they were shoulder to shoulder, just to let Dinah know that she wasn't alone, and she had friends she can count on.

* * *

Dinah sniffles again and shakes her head. The touch to her shoulders meets a stiffening tension for a few seconds. Then, she relents and leans sideways, resting her head against Dick's shoulder. "Not unless you brought me a bunch of bourbon and some weed," she mutters. "Pretty sure my stash went up in smoke. Won't know until the arson investigation's done."

Fingers rake through her hair and push it aside, fruitlessly. She reeks of smoke and flame despite obviously having showered recently.

"I want to saddle up and ride on these fuckers. Helena's on board. Frank's taking cues from Babs. Babs is being all boring and practical and shit." Her hands spread minutely, fall listlessly again. "I don't have my phone or a credit card. Don't even have a bus pass to get across town to the old Canary Cave. You could let me borrow your bike," she says, brightening at the prospect. "I've got my spare kit there. At least I'd be doing something other than sitting here slapping burn cream on my arms."

* * *

Dick never smoked, so he's unsympathetic about her weed, but he is very sympathetic about her loss of credit card and other valuables that help Dinah keep on the main road. Eventually, Dick rubs her shoulder lightly. "I'll help you. I mean, I was about to bring the bourbon, but I wasn't sure if you'd throw it immediately out the window or drink yourself drunk within the first five minutes."

Worst. Humor Timing. Ever.

"But..how about I help you? You know I do have access to the Wayne fortune. Its the least I can do to maybe help you get your feet off the ground?" Dinah was always fiercely independant, which was the problem. But Dick wasn't just going to sit here and watch her suffer.

* * *

Dinah eases back from the hug and narrows her eyes at Dick's offer. Angry tension works across her shoulders. "I'm not a fucking charity case, /Dick/," she scolds him, and shrugs out of the touch. "I've got insurance and my folks are in the house up north. I just—" She sniffles again, eyes dropping and looking away. "I don't need a handout. I just need to do… I need to figure out…"

Inadequate frustration clenches her voice and pinches off the words. "I don't even know where to start with this. I mean that was my /home/. Gotham crooks are scumbags but they don't go after cops, and they don't go after cops in their houses. This is way off the reservation."

She gets to her feet and moves to the bureau. A photograph, slightly singed, is reclaimed and she offers it to Dick. Smoke damage is visible but doesn't obscure the picture of a young Jim Gordon and Larry Lance, in uniform, with red 'X' marks slashes across their faces.

She hugs her stomach. "Part of me keeps thinking about what this means for escalation in Gotham." Her eyes narrow angrily. "Part of me doesn't give a shit and I want to go scream down the roof of some mob bar until I get answers."

* * *

Dick goes silent when Dinah grows angry with and gets away from him. "Dinah, your not a charity case. If you were, I'd put you in one of those nice retirement homes and leave you there with more cash than you could spend. But I know your not a charity case. You'd kick my ass if you ever though tthat." Dick stands up, moving over to Dinah when she's giving hi ma photograph.

He sees Jimmy G and Larry Lance, a small look of sadness on his face. This was definitely a hit. Or so it seemed like that way.

But at the continued talk of shaking people down and getting answers, Dick nods. "Well, I'm in. If they knew where to hit, they'll do it again if given the chance. So, when you've recovered, we can round up the gang and see what we can dig up. I'll keep my ears peeled at the police department and see what I can find out. Okay?"

Dick tries to comfort her. Nothing like they haven't done before.

* * *

"I'm /fine/," Dinah seethes. She's very obviously Not Fine, and the bottles of painkillers next to her bed aid that notion. Her burns bear no blisters but the skin's painfully reddened and cracked on her hands and wrists, halfway to her elbow.

She swallows back her animosity. "I mean it. I'm fine. I just need to work. I'm going—" she fights her hair again, then grimaces and tugs the ponytail loose so she can bind it up against behind her head.

"I'm sure the Dads won't tell me 'n Babs shit. So go do that, y'know—" she wriggles fingers at Dick. "you know, show up, be the son they never had, all that. See what you can find out and we'll mask up and go deal with it."

Arms drop and fold across her stomach. "I think we're safe in the hotel for now. This wasn't about the vigilante crowd. This was a cop thing. It's personal for someone. Can you think of *anyone* who'd have it out bad enough for the Dads to pull off something like this? Christ, if it was Jim's place… there are a lotta families in that apartment building. Someone could have died."

* * *

"Okay."

No, she was definitely not fine. She might be taking painkillers to distract her, but she's spiralling. This wasn't going to get better until they wooped somebody's ass. But since Dick was somewhat good at getting information out of the parents, especially out of Jimbo, he seems to agree to this. "Yeah, I can probably do that. Maybe put on football and us badge-types can discuss it. I'll keep you informed." Dick is back on his feet and he goes to Dinah, hands on her shoulders.

"Everything will be fine. Promise." hands are off shoulders. "If you ever need to talk again…well, you know. You don't have to be tough." Dick's done it before. Its never a good thing.

* * *

Dinah starts to smile at Dick. It's a wan little expression, but sincere and grateful.

Then he tells her 'not to be tough' and her eyes narrow again.

"I'm tougher than you are, Dickie," Dinah admonishes him. "Keep lecturing me and you're gonna get tapped in the nuts." The threat sounds insincere. Mostly insincere. At least her smile turns back up at the corner of her mouth, lopsided. "Lemme know what you find out, okay?"

She walks him to the door and opens it, and before Dick can pass out of the room Dinah reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck to hug him and rest her forehead against his collarbone. Borrowing a bit of his stalwart presence. "Thanks. For, uh, coming by." She breaks away before it turns too saccharine and tries to assume a nonchalant gesture. "And I meant what I said, next time you come by, either bring me good news or something to imbibe. I hate these fucking pain pills."

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