menacemasked
“No, seriously!” Dick insists, mostly to himself. “Fifty feet, straight up when he saw me, I honestly thought that was going to be how I died, in the Batcave off-hours with a kitchen covered in icing.”
He holds up the tupperware container like the blue and orange frosted cupcakes can back his point. “And B heard about it, you know how he is, and he radioed in from Thailand to suggest I should get rid of them and wait it out, so. They’re edible and I need to be off the radar for a few hours—trade?”
It’s a risk, coming in here like this, pretending that this is the norm, but Bruce knows where he is and what he’s doing, and furthermore is backing his play. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. Besides, he’s dressed as Nightwing from the heavy duty custom combat boots on his feet to the dual escrima sticks at his back and the familiar domino with its custom lenses on his face—he’s as safe as he ever is. After a moment of silence, cajolingly, he adds “If you let me lie low here, I’ll get B to invite you back for another sparring round, and I’ll get the Black Bat to show.”
