He waits just long enough for the boy to reach his side before he begins to walk.
"Your concern is noted.” He says, curiously mild. He’s amused—why shouldn't he be? The idea of some ordinary, straight-laced law official coming to him demanding his surrender was almost adorable.
Not that there haven’t been a select few over the years, but it’s never made a difference. Most weren’t eager to draw his attention, and for them, plausible deniability no matter how flimsy is a pleasant alternative to the truth. While Jump City is nowhere near as vulnerable as her neighbors, many learn to value their lives over the technicalities of their occupation. All it takes is a few pulled strings, and he’s freer than any little bird would dream of.
Not that he’s going to discuss that little grey area with his apprentice—at least not yet. Timing will be important from now on.
This base is rather large. Immense, looming cogs; metal doors mixed with clean, almost unnaturally well-kept halls that seem to go on forever, maze-like. He leads them easily, never quite seeming to make a wrong turn or hesitate before selecting a direction. Occasionally they pass under what appear to be scanners of some kind, small lights flickering a dutiful green before the doors slide open. Most are automatic—the main doors that lead to other paths, for example—unlike the labeled rooms that won’t open without an access code or keycard. Slade built that into his armor years ago; far safer than having a seperate card someone could steal. He knew that danger better than most.
“I do think you’ve gotten the wrong idea about all of this, Robin.” He tilts his head, but instead of looking back he fiddles with the metal of his cuff. Somehow the motion doesn’t break his stride. “I have much I would like to teach you. None of which benefits from your death.”
“But by all means, keep looking over your shoulder if you truly think that will put you at ease. I won’t begrudge you your caution.”
He stops at last before a somewhat familiar door, though it’s distinguishable only by its number—Robin’s assigned quarters. When it doesn’t immediately slide open, he pauses, glancing at the keycard reader with a displeased hum. A brief moment passes, but the console indicator continues to apathetically glow a dull red.
… Slade steps aside. His eye narrows as he speaks, sounding contemplative.
Slade peers down at him, watchful. It seems he scarcely even needs to blink, even as his tone shifts with humor. Instead of growing irate, he seems entertained.
I don’t find theft exhilarating.
The denial is almost endearing. He does, and he will. All Slade had needed to do was keep an eye on the boy’s vitals during the previous mission to find precisely how to prove it. That shiny little upgrade attached to his arm is a perfect example of his talents, and he would only improve. Slade will make sure of that.
“We’ll see. Within your given parameters, you’re free to do whatever you wish. Perhaps if you’re lucky, your little friends will be too busy to track you, and it will all go off without a hitch. Teenagers can be quite fickle.”
Of course, he doesn’t really believe that. Those Titans have proven themselves to be quite the tenacious, inconveniently loyal bunch, and by the law of coincidence they’re bound to come across his apprentice sooner or later. Conflict between them is inevitable—and if he pushes too hard, it may break the delicate suspension that prevents Robin from attempting to flee in earnest.
Ideally, they’d be forced to fight. To sever the ties that bind them, at least for the near future… but Slade has been observing them for far too long to think pushing them to that will result in anything less than mutiny from his pupil. The last thing he needs is for the boy to start getting ideas about imminent rescue—and given the time, it’s possible they may learn how to look. Teenagers are fickle, yes, but also explosively passionate and painfully stubborn. Being insistent on tipping the scale so soon may yet lead to more trouble than it’s worth. This location may be disposable, but having a suitable apprentice is not.
No, he needs to bide his time. Wedge a larger space between dear Robin and his precious little friends. They need to be convinced of the boy’s betrayal before he himself will be, and if that means he must continue to flee, so be it. None of this was ever about them, after all. Beyond their being a consistent thorn in his side, he cares little whether they live or die by his hand or another. They’re obstacles in the way of a greater goal. Collateral damage, should things go awry.
Still, he considers it. He considers instructing the boy to fight, daring him to defy direct orders and have his friends suffer the results. Instead, he turns away again.
“I’ll be watching,” Slade repeats, as if the screens looming overhead don’t prove that point well enough already, “You are not to speak to them or compromise yourself, or you will face the consequences.”
He says it as if it’s a fact of life, rather than a threat against one.
“We all function better when we know what guidelines to follow, don’t we.”
(Extra 1: Blog is currently testing out possible verses. Any that are available are included under the cut.
Extra 2: Generally, this blog operates under the assumption that Slade knows (or at has a clue he ignores) about Batman’s identity, but does not reveal it. Whether that also applies to his wards is negotiable, as is him knowing in the first place.
Extra 3: Mun does not currently have access to XKit. As such, long-form RP will be answered on new posts with a mention and a tag as a temporary solution to post trimming, with the previous post linked at the top.)
(Rules and Verse Info Below.)
>>=-—> RULES <—-=<<
1. Do not force actions onto my muse.
2. This blog is primarily based on the 2003 Teen Titans cartoon version of Slade Wilson. As such, there is little to no comic influence here outside of minor backstory components and more details on Slade’s occupation. Apologies.
3. Certain retconned plotlines might not be acknowledged, and mun does not claim perfect accuracy. For example, the mun does not consider it canon for the muse to have slept with Terra regardless of the verse, including the DEATHSTROKE variants.
4. The mun is not the muse. Slade Wilson is an antagonistic character and by nature will say and do things that are in line with his cartoon counterpart. That said, if at any time you feel pressured or uncomfortable, please say so. This is all in the pursuit of fun, not stress.
5. Shipping is probably unlikely to happen, at least for a while. I do not ship my muse with minors (or characters who are minors.)
6. Blog is loosely selective. Since this is a sideblog with a private main it cannot operate on mutuals only, but please be aware that not all messages will result in long form RP. Most will get at least one response.
7. I tend to write multi-paragraph replies, but joke RP and ask answers are often short and sweet. It’s not necessary to match length as long as there is something to go off of.
“Good. You seem to understand. Let us proceed with the next step.”
>>=-—> VERSES <—-=<<
SLADE (tag: verse; slade)
|-> Main Verse. Unless otherwise specified, all interactions will be defaulted to this verse.
Based almost entirely on Slade from Teen Titans (2003) with a select few inclusions relating to his occupation, belated-family/associations, and general perspective, which are mostly used for context purposes to give the character more depth. More traditionally villainous, at least in the eyes of other people, he seems like he takes on work simply for his own amusement, though it often feels he has grander plans than meet the eye. Teen Titans (2003) canon-compliant. Post-series.
“There is nothing left for you here, dear boy. You destroyed it, remember?”
^ This verse uses icons from the cartoon in replies. ^
DEATHSTROKE (tag: verse; deathstroke)
|-> Secondary Verse, currently in trial stages.
Rougher combination of Slade Wilson from the 2003 Teen Titans cartoon and his various comic counterparts. Goes by the alias Deathstroke and occupies his more typical mercenary role. Speaks more casually and is more of a neutral force who follows the money. Naturally opposed to the batfamily (and other heroes by proxy) due to occupation rather than personal grudges. Not specifically compliant to any one comic or television run. Possesses his usual healing factor, eidetic memory, extensive weapons training, etcetera.
“Kid, this isn’t something you should be involved in. Not that it’s my business—just your funeral.”
^ This verse will utilize icons if/when finalized. ^
AT YOUR SERVICE (tag: verse; at your service)
|-> Variant of DEATHSTROKE verse.
Congratulations, your contract has been negotiated and accepted, thus Deathstroke the mercenary is now at your disposal. As long as you're paying, he considers you to be his boss. Professional ethics requires him to defer to you, as long as you don't instruct him to do anything that might get him killed or compromised. He always completes his contracts—in this one thing, his word is his bond.
Try not to get too attached. As effective as he can be, make no mistake, Deathstroke's loyalty is entirely dependent on that paycheck, and when the job is done so is he. He's worth the investment and he knows it. Want someone dead? Need a bodyguard? Just want to keep someone else from having him on their payroll? Fine by him. Just don't get too personal. He'll return the courtesy.
"If that's what you want. Hm? What's that look for? You don't pay me for advice—I'll do what needs to be done."
(Important OOC Note on this Verse:
Prior to starting a thread, it's preferred for the 'job' in question — aka what you hired him for — to be specified and agreed upon by both parties. Please do not immediately make demands—Slade is up for your employ, but the mun is not.)
^ This verse will utilize icons if/when finalized. ^
SECOND WIND (tag: verse; second wind)
|-> Variant of SLADE verse. Takes place at any time mid-series (Teen Titans (2003)).
^ This verse uses icons from the cartoon in replies. ^
WITH MENTORS LIKE THESE (tag: verse; with mentors like these)
|-> Variant of SECOND WIND verse.
Instead of taking on a obviously antagonistic role in efforts to break Robin’s spirit, Slade turns to a more subtle approach to gaining his loyalty, believing that he may be able to mold (manipulate) the boy into becoming his successor willingly. While the apprenticeship begins the same way, he puts effort into breaking down the notions Robin has of him and his identity as a hero. By the time Robin’s teammates realize what’s he has planned, it may already be too late. Still the villainous version of his 2003 character, just with a bit more foresight. Non-canon compliant past the apprentice arc.
“Who knows… I might even become like a father to you.”
^ This verse uses icons from the cartoon in replies. ^
WHO NEEDS ENEMIES (tag: verse; who needs enemies)
|-> Chronological successor to WITH MENTORS LIKE THESE verse.
Slade’s plans to recruit a wayward Robin into his apprenticeship have long since succeeded, gaining the boy’s trust and—perhaps unintentionally—giving some of his own in turn. He now takes his apprentice and successor, Renegade, on more complex and dangerous jobs with every intention of the boy taking over for him one day. AU equivalent of SLADE verse. Theoretically post-series, but non-canon-compliant past the apprentice arc.
“Look how far you’ve come. That’s my boy.”
^ This verse uses icons from the cartoon in replies when fitting. ^
“Such hostility, Robin.” Slade tsks, mock surprise in his tone, but really he expected nothing less. Needling the boy like this was likely to draw this sort of reaction; he did have quite the temper. Not that it was solely to blame, any more than the threat that hung heavy over the lives of his little friends. Not this time.
One would think you have a more specific problem with this job, Boy Wonder.
“Wayne Enterprises is an excellent benchmark for some of the most advanced security systems to date, even outside of Gotham’s jurisdiction. It should be quite the exhilarating challenge for you. No one even has to get hurt.”
He takes a step away from the desk. “As long as you don’t allow yourself to be seen, they may never even know you were there until the morning.”
Most of the security tended toward being mechanical anyway. Perhaps the result of their proprietor knowing full well just how flawed human guards could be, whilst machines need nothing except electricity and did not yield to pain. It was a sentiment Slade could appreciate.
Slade folds his arms behind his back, a picture of composure. The large, mechanical cogs turn apathetically behind them, rumbling.
“I know what brought you here, Robin, just as I know what the results will be. You will complete your mission successfully, because failure is not an option, and because you possess the skills to succeed. I’m confident that you will do quite well.”
For all the ire it holds, it amuses him to hear Robin bite back with the very title he wanted him to use. Unfortunate, perhaps, that the boy was so determined to cling to his past, but that kind of steadfast loyalty would become important once they move past the initial phase of their agreement.
He tilts his head. “And should trouble come, you know what to do.”
"Why me?" The Boy Wonder asked, his eyes narrowing behind the domino mask. "I'm sure any one of the H.I.V.E students would love to be your apprentice. I'm a hero, Slade. Have been since I was eight. A few robberies aren't going to change that."
The prospect of stealing from Wayne Industries was nauseating, but it was also an opportunity. Bruce would see the footage, and he'd know something was wrong. He'd know Dick would never do it willingly.
He had to wonder if it was a coincidence, though, or whether Slade knew who Batman was and wanted to send a message.
"Batman will come for me, and when he does, you'll be sorry."
“Have you now?”
Slade’s voice is calm, that strange level of distance set into it that it gets whenever he dances around the point. It happens often, though it was impossible to tell if the amusement set into it was genuine or just meant to needle him. With Slade, both seemed plausible.
“I’m shocked, apprentice. To think you held such an ill-fitting position for so long. It must have been difficult.”
He’s standing before a desk, smooth like the wall and floor it’s connected to had been carved all from one block. His back is turned, but they have both been here just long enough to know that his guard is never down. It’s an invitation as much as it is a taunt; fight me, and be sure to win—losing everything you hold dear is just a push of a button away.
It’s easy enough to pretend he’s doing it for fun. Half of what the man does seems to happen only to put pressure on him in a senseless bout of sadism. But.
Slade is meticulous in his tutelage, eerily flexible when it comes to what he requires for it. A training room. Automized bots built upon extensive databases of past hand-to-hand combat experts. Obstacle courses he’s instructed to destroy as often as navigate; a tailored uniform ready mere moments after Robin had accepted his little deal… one has to wonder where he gets the money. His commitment appears genuine.
Somehow that makes it all so much worse.
“If I wanted H.I.V.E. students, my job would have been much simpler. They are eager to please, but they lack half the ability that you do. All style, my dear boy, without substance. And there is little point in entertaining idle threats.”
Slade waves one hand. The screens around them begin to flicker, slowly filling with different perspectives of the same room. Every shot is focused on Robin, and none of the cameras are visible even when it seems by the perspective that they should be.
“I assure you, there is little to fear—no one will disturb you. I’ll be watching every step of the way. All you need to do is follow my orders, and complete your mission. Quick, and relatively painless. You can leave the Bat in the belfry to me, should it come to that.”
He sounds amused again, like it’s a twisted inside joke. To be so unconcerned both with the threat of Batman’s interference or Robin’s rebellion… it’s worrisome what he had done to ensure it wouldn’t happen.
Occasionally handled by Wintergreen if I’m busy. Otherwise, this is my direct line.
(Looser, likely more ooc Slade RP text blog—essentially meant to serve as his blog, had he the urge to use tumblr. Most familiar with Teen Titans (03).
Basically—want to text Slade? This is his personal number.
None of what is done on this blog is canon to events or RP @slade-of-the-art.
Rules:
1. Keep it SFW.
2. Slade has opinions that the mun does not share.
3. Shipping is not likely happening, apologies. Especially not with characters or muns who are minors.
4. Verses from @slade-of-the-art apply and similar tags will be used. (Slade, Deathstroke, Second Wind, With Mentors Like These, and Who Needs Enemies.) But this blog is much more casual. If you would like to speak to Slade, then Deathstroke separately, just specify.
5. This is essentially a shitpost blog. Let’s just have fun.
“I’m afraid that’s the least of your worries,” Slade says, eye narrow. His answer isn’t helpful or reassuring, but it probably would have been more shocking if it was. Slade has never been one for direct communication in the best of circumstances, and these were not the best.
Even if the Titans did manage to locate them, it’s too dangerous to blast their way in. One wrong move and the entire building goes down at once, inevitably taking the very human boy-wonder with it.
The crackling of the flames around them is deafening, fire shooting up in increasingly large pillars as the metal supports groan with the strain. It’s loud, the blaze is roaring, and the room is collapsing around them. Wood falls from the walls and ceiling in flaming bursts like miniature meteors.
Smoke billows from all directions—soon enough it’ll overtake the small space, and whatever limited air they have is bound to run out before they do. It’s difficult to breathe normally, let alone see, but the reflections of the flames dance across the metal of Slade’s armor, ominously bright. It almost looks like it’s melting against his black suit, molten and solid at the same time.
Hellish.
“As flattered as I am by your commitment to our little game—unless your plan was to go out in a blaze of glory, following me here was a mistake, kid.”
There’s… anger behind that unusual nickname, something beyond his typical condescension. But there isn’t much time to process it before he twists, his bo-staff suddenly in hand. Slade swings it, but instead of the blow hitting Robin it smashes into a chunk of falling debris, forcing it to veer sharply off to the side instead of toppling onto his head.
It crashes loudly into a pile, kicking up a cloud of ash. The weakening walls don’t seem to appreciate the impact.
“And I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on waiting for the sky to fall.” He spins it like a propeller, shaking off the embers before letting it rest at his side. “So I suggest we find an exit. We can fight to your heart’s content after that.”
"eavesdrop" // Maybe set near the beginning of the apprenticeship??
(Eavesdrop meme)
“—aken on a ward.”
The voice is filtered, or something like it. The image that accompanies it is only marginally helpful, with the figure displayed on the monitor cast in deep shadow on top of a silver and black cloak. It seems most of Slade’s associates have a flair for the dramatic—or perhaps it’s just a side effect of paranoia. Slade himself is sitting in that large, throne-like chair of his, leaning almost casually against one hand.
“I have.”
“That’s not like you,” comes the answering hiss. What little is visible of their face appears to be smiling, but it screams of barely stifled rage. “You were so eager to work alone last time—what was it? We drag you down?”
“Slow me down.” Slade’s correction is apathetic. It’s not difficult to imagine what minor expression he’s displaying. “That job didn’t suit your agency, nor would the next.”
“And a suitable replacement is—?!”
“Now, now.” He sounds like he’s admonishing a child. The cloaked figure on-screen bristles. “You mustn't take it so personally. That boy is quite the asset, or at least he will be, given the time. Potential has always held much more meaning to me than brute strength.”
“One successful robbery, and you deem him worthy of being your successor? Is that all it takes to impress you?”
Slade flicks one hand, dismissive. “I believe we’re done. If you have further complaints, forward them properly instead of pestering me.”
Even if they do, it’s unlikely that they’ll get a response. It seems they know that, because the figure bares their teeth in a sneer.
“You must be quite confident in that child,” they spit, faster now, as if on a time limit. “—or in your own reputation. Who is he, Slade?”
Slade’s answering smile, though audible, is oddly cold. “Both, I think. And that is none of your concern.”
And then the screen is off, the image consumed by static. Slade’s hand is on the remote, so it’s safe to say it wasn’t a mutual decision. For a while nothing else happens, save the heavy, metallic clang of giant cogs. He doesn’t even seem to twitch.
The lights flicker.
“I do hope you didn’t think I wouldn’t notice you hiding in the shadows of my facility, Robin. If you want to launch a sneak attack you will need to be far more subtle than that. You step too heavily in those new boots of yours.”
