taxonomites | [ visual | location: outside "sanctuary for all" ] [ open ]

Bruce Wayne has kind of had enough of today; while the world of Taxon doesn't look nearly like the (artistically rendered, he suspects) Doctor's looming apocalypse, it's still in a near-cracking state. The destruction of citizens vs sentinel robots, accidentally-detonated bombs, and his own creative use of the tram have left a notable impact. Still, there is more to come - but just how much more depends on all of them.

"There's no radiation in the individual bombs," he says, and he's walking, headed straight towards the Sanctuary building in downtown Osten. "The machines are there to protect civilian life, not the explosives. If you're still here and can't get to a safe zone or on the ship, stay as far away from any sentinel activity as you can."

Speaking of the machines - they're approaching, because he isn't stopping, and neither are the people behind him, whose shoulders or backs can occasionally be seen in his broadcast. Bruce is holding something small and heavy in his hand, somehow both calm and extremely annoyed.

"Unless you'd like to get down here and help break this goddamn facility open, because the Doctor is right here."

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There is a distinct lack of blitheness here, thank you, Nightwing, although really the angst level is fairly low considering they're disobeying orders and Tim is remembering how Bruce's corpse looked - but this is not the time for that. This is the time for ducking a spray of rubber bullets, letting them patter happily on his cape as it spreads behind him, and moving in close to smash the shooting mechanism with his staff.

It really might be hard to believe that they're both ordinary, variably squishy humans after this display, depending on how many other ridiculous humans the viewer is familiar with. Bruce.

Nightwing will have to carry all the necessary blithe for them both, then. He can do it. He's used to making sacrifices. Tim.

Another sentinel crackles and sags as an eletrocuting batarang embeds itself in the tranquilizer muzzle and sparks to life. Their body armor can stop bullets and arrows; whether it can stop sharp little darts isn't something Dick intends to test, just to be on the safe side.

Bombs? Holmes is used to. Grey area mastermind plots? Those too. In the past hour or so he's also grown quite accustomed to the ideas of time travel and radiation and strange little sentries that pelt you with unfortunately painful bullets and darts and God knows what else.

What's stopped him in his tracks for the moment is something he's not made himself entirely mentally ready for amidst all the chaos, and that's witnessing two skilled fighters in brightly coloured spandex and capes going hand to hand with demonic robots.

He's taking a moment, here, far enough back to avoid coming under technological assault but still well in the range of sight (and possibly sound) to wonder if this means he's finally actually seen it all.

"... Well."

Tim hears that, and turns - hm. He shoots Dick a look of let me handle the civilian, which he assumes is how Dick would want it anyway - Nightwing staying on the front lines, Robin working support. It's how they roll, almost always.

He moves back towards Holmes, coming to a stop a reasonably polite distance away, considering that he is for all intents and purposes, a potentially crazy person in (reasonably armoured) spandex to this gentleman. He keeps that in mind when addressing him, calm and authoriative despite... being a teenager in spandex.

"Excuse me, sir, but you might want to wait for me and Nightwing to finish disabling the defenses before proceeding closer. It shouldn't take us long."

Nightwing.

Nightwing.

"Well," he repeats. And takes a moment before he can reply with any semblance of reasonable politeness. "You seem to have taken care of most of them. While I can't say I don't appreciate the warning, there's likely not an excess of time before the torches and pitchforks start their work, and I'd rather see to it that our man doesn't meet an unfortunate end before it's absolutely necessary."

It's safest to blame Superman for the choice of codename.

(Yes, really.)

"I'm glad to hear you're not on the side of lynching, that seems like it might be popular." It is possibly not the time for dry humour, but Tim is used to inserting it into worse situations. He spares a glance over his shoulder and sees that, yes, Holmes is right - they really have made short work of most of the sentinels. "Just allow me to follow you to the entrance, then, so I can take of anything we overlooked." And really, he's using follow because it's politer than escort.

There's a violent crunch as Nightwing ends another poor sentinel with the help of his escrima sticks. He turns to Holmes, the mask helping to set the neutral expression he gives the older man, because if Robin is rolling friendly then he is rolling stern.

"Let's go, then." He suggests.

Holmes looks a little unimpressed at the other man's implication that he requires an escort, but he shrugs. There's no time to argue with these could-be-madmen just now, and he finds himself thinking back to his dealings with the Yard.

They've even got the psychology down pat - how fun.

He starts to walk, deciding it best to let these men do as they please, whether or not they think him to be some hapless drunken vagrant. If nothing else he's one with good aim, as proven when he pulls the loaded pistol from his pocket, calmly firing at one of the still-distant sentries to send it toppling over.

"Bit faster, isn't it?"

Not that he's ever been one to find dramatics distasteful.

"As long as you're not dealing with people, sure." Nightwing says easily, slinging a batarang such that it banks off of one sentinel and hits the firing mechanism of another sentinel, turning it slightly so that it sprays rubber bullets at the first instead, knocking it over. The second batarang is an eletrocuting one, putting a stop to that sentinel's activity with a sizzle of frazzled electronics.

"We don't kill." It's delivered with casual finality. He's obviously used to saying it and doesn't impart any more drama to it than he has to.

"Well you're in luck. I'm here to make sure the man lives, actually." That's all the clarification he bothers to give - he fires once more, taking out another device, but lowers the firearm when he takes note of the other party exiting the building.

"That makes for perfect timing, then," he mutters to himself, forging ahead with ease definitely not born of a common civilian's level of skill.

[ visual | location: outside "sanctuary for all" ] [ open ]

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