i_flybynight Carollia perspicillata [Log-ish - Dick and Jean-Paul]
It was like something out of a bad teen romance movie. The boy from the wrong side of the tracks finally decides to do something right, go for the prom queen, and everyone else decides to jump in the way. Well, it wasn't that anyone was really fighting Dick for Babs, not directly, but everyone everywhere was talking about her. Some had heard of her, and their boasting drew glares or rapt attentive eyes. Others merely gossiped, trading speculation based on rumors and blown-up stories.
Dick couldn't take much more of this.
Even the rooftops weren't much of a respite. He could still hear the voices, coming from open apartment windows. Sometimes he could hear fights starting, and for once, Nightwing had no desire to intervene. Let them fight. She was his, and they both knew it. Everything else - this weird obsession - it didn't mean anything.
Now, if one of those maniacs decided to go after her with a knife or something (people had odd ways of expressing admiration), then he'd jump down, but until then, he was content to merely fight the urge to cover his ears with his hands.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" The voice was lilting, a faint French accent to the words, and the tone dripped arrogance and a stretched patience.
Nightwing spun around, wondering how he'd missed seeing someone else on the rooftop, and saw a man floating, arms crossed over his chest. Blue eyes were fixed on the milling people on the street. He glanced back quickly, and then gave his new companion a once-over. Long coat, boots that hinted at there being spandex underneath (they had a certain skintight sort of look)... sharply etched features, to the point that his ears came to, well, points, and a definite sense that a lot of energy was being barely contained.
"What is?" he finally asked, and the man dropped soundlessly to the rooftop.
"That whole scene." One arm disentangled itself to wave at the street, and then hooked itself back against his body again. "All over some woman." The tension in the man's voice wound a notch higher.
Nightwing - no, it was really Dick Grayson coming through there - bristled. "She's not just 'some woman.'"
The elfboy rolled his eyes. "Merde, you too? Why aren't you down there fighting for her, then?" He looked Nightwing up and down, clearly noting the uniform, the masks, the Escrima sticks strapped to his back. "You'd probably win. Against them, at least." A flicker of a challenge.
Nightwing narrowed his eyes. "Against you, too, I'd think. She's already got someone to look out for her."
"You?"
Glare. "Yes."
The elf laughed. It might've been a pleasant sound if it hadn't been so derisive. There was a rush of wind, two hard hits against Nightwing's back that knocked him forward, thankfully away from the edge of the roof, and then his compatriot was holding his Escrima sticks.
The glare intensified. "Congratulations. I don't need those to kick your ass."
That got him a raised eyebrow and a smirk. The other man's next words were punctuated by quick hits that were little more than taps, against Nightwing's shoulder, his side, his spine, his stomach. "Oh, come on. I could hit you a hundred times before you even realized where I was coming from. By then, you wouldn't even be able to - "
And then Nightwing grabbed him mid-swing and curled his wrist down sharply. The stranger yielded to the pressure rather than break a bone, and quickly ended up flat on his stomach on the rooftop, arm twisted behind his back and wrist twisted in a more uncomfortable angle than that. There was a brief, almost exploratory, struggle that ended with a wince.
"Fine," the sulky, slightly muffled voice said. "You've made your point."
"No," Nightwing hissed, using his version of the Batvoice. "I really don't think I have." He leaned, pressing the other's arm further across his back, and upped the pressure on his wrist. He waited for the squirming to start - and it didn't. Instead, there was a vibrating sort of thrum that grew in intensity until it was almost audible. It took Nightwing a minute to realize it was an attempt at escape. He pushed harder, until the movement stopped and there was a barely-noticeable sound from the man under him.
There. He released him in one move, pushing himself up and away after snatching the fighting sticks back. Then Nightwing settled back to watch the other guy get up, not as quickly as before, but with the same sort of grace that had punctuated his other movements. Not as breakable as a normal human, then.
"Who're you?" Nightwing demanded.
The elf smirked again. "Northstar. I fight for Justice, Truth and an Evil-Free World." Clearly, someone had issues with the tagline of superheroics.
Nightwing nodded. "Don't go near her." He couldn't quite bring himself to say her name, as if it would somehow call more attention to them. "If you do, you won't be getting up like this time."
An upper lip curled, but before Northstar could reply, Nightwing had leaped (okay, with a little more flamboyance than usual) from the roof, letting himself fall a few stories before shooting out a zipline that snagged the edge of a roof across the street. He didn't look back, knew the other man could follow if he wished, but the only sign that he had was another rush of wind, a blur of shadow, and a taunting, "You'd have to catch me first." before Nightwing was alone again.