Year 23

juvelone replied to your post : Plan to write something today. prompt me a number…

23 🙂

As part of my fiendish plot as to write some of my original universe (but actually a Batman AU) fic, according to the timeline, here’s something from when Perry is 23 aka mostly dialogue between not!Batman/Bruce Wayne and not!Robin/Dick Grayson:

…

“You’re going out to see Alis, aren’t you?” the boy asked from where he perched birdlike on the back on of a chair, poking the seat pillow with a cedar switch until Rupercht turned around to glare at him. The boy grinned when he had Rupercht’s attention and stretched up into a standing position, feet balanced carefully on the top rail. He jabbed the switch out in accusation. “You are, don’t deny it!”

“Sit properly or get down,” Rupercht grumbled.

“Ha!” The boy swung his arms out and leapt from his perch, floating across the hall until he landed with unnatural softness a foot away from where Rupercht stood. The boy beamed up at the older man with hand on a hip and chest sticking out proudly. “I could smell the rose water from way over there, and you wouldn’t be going out to spy on people with an identifying scent. Plus, you’re wearing the powder blue cotte and that fancy metal hip belt with the cats, and you only wear that if you’re trying to look all rich and impressive, but it’s not for any official court appearance or you’d be wearing your pendant chain and the tiny crown thing. Plus I know your schedule, and the council meetings aren’t for two days.”

“You have improved,” Rupercht said. “With the gravitas wood.” He pointed to the piece of treated cedar in the boy’s hand.

The boy wrinkled his nose to the side. “I haven’t had time to really practice. I should be able to float up to the ceiling or all the way across the room. And Da and Ma could do it with only wooden bracelets.”

“Practice in the main hall where you have the two story height and more space, or out in the courtyard.The skill is too useful to neglect, Richard.”

“But dangerous if the wrong person sees me,” said the boy.

Rupercht sighed. “That won’t always be true. And the power is centered in the wood you use, so I can pass the ability off as a priest-blessed charm. The talents manifest too regularly in the noble families, including most of the elector princes, for the Emperor to allow persecution. People are dependent on the items and trusting of the priesthood who use them.”

“Doesn’t stop it,” Richard muttered, and Rupercht wondered how much of that bitterness was his projection. Incantations had been chanted over most of the stone and wood of his large townhouse, and charmed objects could be found throughout the premises, not just hanging from the main altar. Yet no one in the privy council or imperial government knew of his talent.

The boy twirled the piece of reddish orange wood in his fingers. “You’re trying to deflect the conversation. That means you are going out to try and court Alis, and you don’t want the rest of the household to know.”

“Nonsense,” Rupercht snapped.

“You should change your hose, though.”

“What’s wrong with the pair I’m wearing?” Rupercht was alarmed at how defensive and loud his statement came out.

Richard frowned. It made him look like a pouting kitten. “They’re dull, and boring, and make your legs look…well, not skinny, but in the other pair you look better. Alis thinks so too. Wear the gray ones; she likes how your calves look in the gray hose.”

“You talk to Alis about how my legs look?”

“Sure,” Richard said. The wide grin was back, cheeky and infuriating. “What else do we have to talk about? She likes to tell me stories about you, and they’re almost as good as the ones from Elred. Well, nothing’s as good as the bee story.”

“You are never to mention that bee story,” Rupercht demanded.

“Too late,” Richard said, and kicked up into the air once more. He floated for a moment, the piece of cedar stirring the air above him as he slowly rotated his wrist, then descended. With another kick the boy rose in the air a little higher. “I left out the part where you got stung-”

“Don’t repeat embarrassing childhood stories to those outside the family.” His tone was stern enough to stop Richard, though the boy was still smirking and hanging suspended in the air. Out of reach, Rupercht noticed; the boy was smart. “And I don’t need fashion advice from my squire.”

“Sure you do,” Richard said.

“Not from you. You still think parti-colored motley is appropriate attire.”

“Travelling acrobats,” the boy countered with light-hearted outrage, but Rupercht watched the small tells of his face for signs of sorrow at this reminder of his murdered parents and the life he had left. There was none on that sunny mask, but Rupercht knew grief. He stared up at the boy, waiting. With a huff, Richard lowered the piece of wood and began to float like a soap bubble to the floor. “I promise not to tell Elred where you’re going. Which is silly, because he approves of Mistress Alis.”

“I know,” Rupercht said, thinking of the old servant who had raised him since he was nine. “The problem is he wants me to marry soon, and the rest of the court, and produce an heir.”

The obnoxious grin was brighter than before. “And the problem? You have enough money, and if you marry Alis it won’t matter if she steals from you because it’d belong to her anyway and then we’d have a lady of the manor so Elred doesn’t have to handle all the steward’s duties. And then you could open up the country mansion so we’re not always here in the city.”

“I need to be in-town for my duties,” Rupercht said, “both official court rulings and the other work.”

“The night work, you mean,” Richard said, “the breaking into offices and guild halls and spying on people in taverns. All the creepy night stuff.”

“Yes,” Rupercht growled, “and if you want to join me tonight you shall stay quiet.”

The boy whooped with excitement. “Ah, Sire! When you took me in as your squire, I thought I’d be stuck cleaning armour and tending your horses -not that I wasn’t stuck tending them when we travelled in the wagon- but breaking into lords’ warehouses to steal their letters and prove their conspiring against the Throne. It’s that river tariff case, right? You found which House is involved in the smuggling.”

“I have a lead,” he admitted.

“Wait, is that why you’re calling on Alis? For help sneaking into the place?” Blue eyes narrowed at the man in suspicion. “On the list of troubadour-approved courting rituals, I don’t think illegal espionage is there.”

“Richard, I’m the lord in charge of the Emperor’s spies. Even if I don’t tell him I’m his most active agent. I make it legal.”